The End of the Beginning
by SuperiorDimwit
Summary: Some matches are made in heaven, some in hell: and some, quite rare and quite peculiar, are made on earth. - An attempt at telling the story that took place before Ao no Exorcist. Genre changes depending on where the story is at the moment, but pretty much every genre is visited at some point (except maybe Parody and Western).
1. 1: Paragon 1

**A/N: So, uh, greetings? This account was created years ago, when you had to have an account to comment  
and discuss stories here. It was never intended for publishing anything; as so often happens, intentions have  
nothing to do with outcome. I have wanted for a story exploring Shiro's and Mephisto's friendship for a long time.  
Not a one-shot, not a recap, but a story from the day they met to the day Shiro died. Ambitious? A bit. Still, I will  
attempt it. Because nobody else has. I would love it if someone did, though. =3**

**This is also an attempt to tie together loose ends left in manga and anime. It's one of those stories that**  
**wants -** **_demands_**** - to be written: it kept winking at me from the periphery of the frames, kept whispering from  
****between unspoken lines, and dangled story threads before me until I eventually surrendered to temptation and  
****started weaving them together. I will try, as far as I possibly can, to use the clues canon gives and write  
****something that would work as a prequel to the manga. It's not gonna be perfect: there's very little to go on, and  
****with the manga still being published it's inevitable that new chapters will shoot my storyline full of holes. Still,  
****with a little effort, this will tie together nicely with the beginning of the manga in the end. At least I hope so. x'3**

**Also, I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Shuffling up the broad stairs of True Cross Academy, he noted that nothing had changed over summer holidays. Trees looked  
the same, the grand hallway looked the same – hell, even the new students looked like slightly smaller copies of the ones that  
had graduated last semester. The prohibition against smoking was also, to his dismay, the same.

"Fujimoto Shiro! How many times do I have to repeat this?" The senior prefect, whose name he always made sure to forget,  
stormed at him as if the faint glow of the cigarette had been a lighthouse beacon. "No smoking on academy premises. First day  
on this semester and you already have a warning."

"And at three warnings you take me down to the basement and punish me for being a naughty boy?" He just loved seeing her  
flustered. Shiro had secretly been trying to find out where she lived, to go visit her during summer break and hopefully, hopefully  
get the date she always refused to go on during semester.

"No, I will take you to the principal's office and get you suspended."

As if that was even a threat. There was never enough evidence to pin him down - besides, who would mind a few days extra  
vacation? He gave her a winning grin, wet his fingers and snuffed the cigarette, but left it dangling from his lip.

"See you around, senpai-chan", he winked. No response. Not that it mattered. Maybe there was some cutie among the new arrivals…

"Oi, Shiro-san!"

"Yasuda-san! Don't you get uglier every time I see you…"

The teens met up, mock-fought and threw empty insults. Yasuda had outgrown Shiro by three inches over summer and had the  
makings of a scrawny moustache that he was immensely proud of. Shiro didn't have any facial hair, which was all good and well:  
he'd have to dye that too if he wanted it to go with his bleached hair. He still wore his round nerd-glasses, which he explained was  
because it was "like having a pair of perfectly shaped boobs right in front of your eyes all the time".

"Isn't Fuji-san here? I thought you'd gotten married by now."

Yasuda replied with an elbow to the ribs as they walked up the last flight of stairs.

"He'll be here. The ones living closest to school always arrive last. Fuji's law."

"Fuji's law", Shiro chuckled and juggled his shoulder bag to allow a swarm of freshmen to pass by. "Speaking of laws, I already  
got a warning from that sexy senpai for smoking. I think she likes me."

"I think that's your glasses distorting reality for you. So how are we welcoming the freshmen this year? Clogging all the toilets  
in the dorm?"

"And dunking their heads in them?"

"Do you _want _to get kicked out? I thought I heard you say you'd cool it a bit."

"That's what I say in front of the teachers." Shiro flicked out a lighter and re-lit his cigarette. "And if they don't catch me  
they'll never know."

"So you will wear a mask while you dunk the freshmen, or what?"

"I will tell the freshmen that if they rat on me they'll be dunked in the wall next time."

Yasuda shook his head with a smile.

"Oh man, why do you even go to school? The yakuza don't ask for any merits beyond what you've already got."

For the record, Shiro had only dunked a kid's head in a toilet once. The kid in question had been making fun of his glasses,  
until Shiro had threatened to, well, wash his hair in the toilet. That was back in his first year at True Cross, when people had  
not yet understood that Shiro was a guy who stood by his word. And when the little blabbermouth didn't quit yapping about  
his glasses, he did exactly as he had said. In retrospect it might have been a bit over the top, but there and then it had felt  
like the only sensible thing to do.

"School is where the cute girls in school uniforms are, you jackass!" Shiro folded his fingers behind his head, looking up at the  
ceiling with a wolfish grin. "I might even fall behind and stick around another year or two. What do you think of chòu dòufu*  
in the air vents?"

"For the freshmen? I think it would rock. If you could sneak up there without anyone catching you."

"Yasuda-san~ In these three years, have I ever been caught?" Shiro grinned confidently.

"Yes, for beating up the guy who told you to stop hitting on his girlfriend."

"That doesn't count, it was in public. I never get caught for this kind of thing. Up the water drain, onto the roof and down  
again. Child's play."

"For _you_." Yasuda looked down self-consciously at his far-from-athletic frame.

"Hey, your extra large uniform saved our asses that time we poured laxative in the water supply and had to hide the bottle."  
He patted him on the back. "There's strength in difference, y'know."

Fuji's law held true, as the unkempt, long-haired boy weaselled in on History, last class before lunch break.

"Hirawara Fuji. In all these years I have never seen you attend class on time even _once_."

Shiro gave the thumbs-up from his tilting chair at the back of the classroom. More than anything, he admired Fuji's clueless  
deadpan every time a teacher was about to tell him off. Every time. As if it had never happened before, as if he had no idea  
why he was being yelled at. It was a piece of art, dammit. Right up there with Mona Lisa.

*** Stinky dòufu, a food that certainly lives up to its name.**


	2. 2: Paragon 2

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

They kept the chòu dòufu in a sealed plastic bag as they made their way to the first-year dorm. Just looking at it  
made Shiro slightly nauseous.

"It looks like dog shit", Yasuda commented, studying the condense forming inside the bag. "I used to walk the dog for  
an elderly lady in my neighbourhood. She was a stingy one that re-used plastic bags from her shopping at the grocery  
store rather than buying the black ones for dogs. It looked just like this."

"Thanks, Yasuda-san. I'm going to be holding that bag with my teeth when I climb, you know. How's the owl?" Yasuda  
cupped his hands and hooted low and hollow. "Good. And the pigeon?" Fuji chirped into his hands. "Swell. Alright, Fuji-san  
goes at the west end of the building, Yasuda-san at the east. If a student comes it's one signal, if it's a teacher, two.  
Three signals says the coast is clear. Are we all good?"

He didn't have to wait for a response, both guys had already fanned out to take up positions. School years had moulded  
them into something like a special task force, to the point that if things went wrong, they could predict each others' actions  
well enough to still act more or less coordinated. And they always covered for one another. It was good to have reliable friends.  
Not like back home.

The electric generator seemed a good starting point. Shiro sprung up on it, held the plastic bag firmly between his teeth, and  
started climbing. Water drains, window sills, lamps and balconies gave him everything he needed to reach the roof. Sure, there  
were fire ladders. They made one hell of a noise, too. And that was no challenge.

On the roof, he took the plastic bag in hand and strolled leisurely towards the first vent. Thank god for flat roofs. He remembered  
from the water supply event that the roof tiles on the older buildings of the academy weren't nailed, only laid out. They'd almost  
been caught for that one, when one tile slid and shattered and woke some of the students.

It was an easy job, really. He had just placed the last piece of stinking food in the last vent when a gust of air tore the bag  
from him. Shiro bit his tongue. Leave no leads, that was a cardinal rule. But it was a transparent plastic bag, the kind you  
got in every grocery store. Couldn't get anything out of that. And he was pretty sure that search dogs wouldn't be able to  
pick up his scent through the stench from the chòu dòufu…

"_Now I'm just being paranoid. Seriously? Search dogs for a school prank?_" He chuckled at himself. Walking back, he took his  
time looking at the sky behind the sailing cloud shreds. What a different world this was. Familiar to the point of boredom, in  
one way, but snug and comfortable as all well-worn things are. A few harmless jokes – well, more or less harmless – and a  
brawl here and there, good laughs and a can of beer to wash down the cigarette smoke. Sure, you could get told off, but that  
was the extent of it. Nothing actually serious happened.


	3. 3: Up the rabbit hole

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Within the first week Shiro had gotten his second warning for smoking. Not from the same sexy-senpai, which was a  
shame. The prefects seemed to keep record amongst themselves of which students had done what, and if he got caught  
smoking one more time he'd go to the principal's. He had half a mind to nick that list, but he had no idea where it was  
kept. Probably not in a safe or something that hardcore. Maybe in a locked drawer in some prefect's dorm room. That left,  
what, a hundred possible places? Two hundred? What if they kept a copy somewhere else?

Comparing the efforts and risks of tracking down and taking the list, and walking those extra meters outside of academy  
premises to have a smoke, the latter outweighed the former. It wasn't that bad, with Yasuda and Fuji keeping him company.

"So what do you think of this weekend?" Fuji said, perched on the stone banister of the suspended walkway. "Mepphy Land  
is still open for the season."

"That's no fun if you don't have any girls to bring along."

"Shiro-san could lend you some." Fuji cocked his head and grinned. "He looks like a pimp when he's leaning back like that,  
sloppy tie, sloppy shirt, bleached hair and a smoke. If those glasses were tinted you'd actually look cool."

"Eleven girls' phone numbers say I already look cool", he said, making the victory sign. He turned and leaned his elbows on  
the banister, blowing smoke out and giving girls in the park on ground level the opportunity to admire his coolness (and  
potentially even add to his collection of phone numbers). Too bad there weren't any girls there.

"Anyway, if we aren't that pep for Mepphy Land I've got something else", Fuji went on. "Look, there's a rock concert on Sunday,  
just a fifteen minute walk from our dorm. There'll be booze, too, and I know a guy who might…"

Fuji's voice phased out of Shiro's consciousness as movement drew his attention to an open manhole below. Who the hell wore  
a _white tailcoat _to work in a manhole? As the rest of the man surfaced, Shiro stifled a laugh in his hand. Was that a _pantyhose_?  
And look at those boots!

"Hey guys, come over here, you have to see this! It's some kind of transvestite sewer clown-" The cigarette fell from his lips.

"Transvestite sewer clown? It's time for you to ditch those glasses, man."

"Or maybe that thing you were smoking wasn't just a cigarette", Yasuda added, a playful glint in his eye.

"Yeah, I… I was just messing with you", he picked up as well as he could, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish  
smile. "We shouldn't be sitting here making _plans _for the weekend: that's wasting the time we have today! I say we go to  
Mepphy Land on Saturday and the concert on Sunday, and right now we're having yakiniku down the block. On me!"

What could he do but play along? He could never explain that the little white dog in the park had been the transvestite sewer  
clown…


	4. 4: There's something about Germany

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Amusement parks, so logic dictated, were there for people to amuse themselves. So Shiro thought as he sipped cold soda in  
the shade beneath the staircase to the Free Fall. Skirts were god's gift to man, amen. Pretty to look at, but prettier to look  
under. Yet all good things come to an end, and the park caretakers seldom shared his opinion of amusement.

"Oi, Shiro-san; aren't you a little old for this?" Yasuda snickered when he found Shiro's latest hiding spot: the ball pond.

"Shut up", he grumbled, submerged to his chin. "And get in. I dropped my glasses in here."

"Man, you're a handful – Fuji-san! Get in here! The blonde idiot lost his glasses! Ouch! How can you aim if you can't see?"

"How can I miss, when you're the target?"

"How wide can you grin? I'm not sure one ball will be enough for you to choke."

It could have turned into a war right there and then, but Shiro stepped down for fear of crushing his glasses in the tumble.  
With the three of them looking, they found them in less than half an hour.

Shiro and Fuji were the only ones who knew that Yasuda was really good at the catching-goldfish-with-rice-paper-net game.  
It was a skill nobody would brag about, but all the same it was a skill to be admired. Yasuda was the kind of guy who would  
be able to grow bonsai trees, Shiro mused as he watched the slow, meticulous movement of the net. It looked like under-water  
chi gong.

They left the goldfish stand carrying four big plushies each, the sad truth being that none had a girl to give them to. In the  
end Shiro asked the man at the air gun shooting range if they could have a few runs for free if they donated the plushies as  
prizes. When he agreed, Shiro cracked a wolfish grin. He wasn't the type who would ever grow a bonsai tree, but his aim  
could pluck a leaf off one from a hundred feet away.

Shiro shot him and his friends more chocolate than they could eat in a day before the shopkeeper said they had consumed their  
free rounds. What they couldn't down themselves they sold off to visiting kids.

Since Shiro had botched his chance to ride the Free Fall, they decided to take Go To Hell. Because, really, after eating that much  
chocolate there's nothing more fun than to see if you can keep it down.

Shiro and Yasuda could. Fuji made a good effort, but in the end one passer-by below was very unlucky that day.

"I have to say, Shiro-san: in a zombie apocalypse I'd choose you to be the other survivor with me", Fuji said as they headed  
for the exit with more money in their pockets than they had when they went in. "I'd have a bodyguard and a breadwinner  
all in one. Say you can cook too and I'll marry you."

"I can't. That's why I'll marry a girl."

"Grow breasts and he's all yours", Yasuda suggested in a conspirational whisper.

"Grow breasts and I'll- Oi. That statue. Who is that, really?"

Yasuda and Fuji stared at him as if he'd asked what colour the sky was.

"For real? You've been in True Cross Academy for almost three years and you don't know who that is?"

"Well, I _have _noticed it", he said sullenly. "I thought it was Mepphy Land's mascot clown or something."

Both guys roared with laughter.

"Shiro-san, you're an ass! Who makes five-meter solid gold statues of an amusement park clown? That's the principal!"

"That?" Shiro's face fell. "That's the princi-? Oh, very funny, guys. You almost got me. Who is it?"

"It _is _the principal", Fuji ensured, every tooth on display. "And yeah he doesn't look like it. They say he's some quirky  
German aristocrat with truckloads of money. He owns the Academy, amusement park and all, so it wouldn't surprise me if  
that actually _is _solid gold."

"Johann… I always forget his name." Yasuda went closer to the statue and squinted at the foreign letters. "Johann  
F-a-u-s-t, Faust. The fifth. Sounds like aristocracy to me." He glanced up at the monument. "I wonder if they all dress  
like that in Germany?"

"_I wonder if they all turn into dogs in Germany?_" Shiro thought to himself.


	5. 5: Meanwhile in True Cross Academy

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Shiro came down with a case of very sore throat on Sunday afternoon. A bout of thumping headache, too. In fact, he felt  
so shitty he couldn't go with them to the concert. He felt shitty for fifteen minutes after they had left, then got up, grabbed  
a flashlight and stuffed his pockets with onigiri, and went out.

He really hoped the manhole in the park wasn't bolted. The transvestite clown had only shoved it back in place with his foot,  
not secured it in any other way as far as he had seen. Arriving there, it wasn't bolted. It was, on the other hand, so heavy that  
it probably didn't need bolts. Shiro climbed the nearest tree, broke off a branch of the approximately right size and wedged it  
into one of the holes where bolts were usually put. He kept the pressure, and bent. It was a very crude lever. It was entirely  
the wrong place for a lever, but he needed the lid to slide just a little out of place, just a thin gap between lid and culvert to get  
a knife blade in-

The branch broke, and Shiro face-planted on the walkway. He cursed quite colourfully and wiped his split lip – but the sudden  
movement had made the lid jerk up on the edge, and with a bit of force he pushed it out of the way. Then he hesitated. What  
did he hope to find, really? He scanned the circumference of the culvert, looking for any sort of camera or detection device.  
Nothing. Bringing out the flashlight, he descended the iron rungs.

He didn't have to climb far to find what principal Faust had come for, though he was disappointed: a slip of paper stuck to the  
culvert wall. Apart from the calligraphy on it, which he recognized vaguely as something you could see around shrines, it had  
the emblem of the academy in the top right corner. A bit further down was an identical slip of paper with a horizontal tear  
through it. The principal had gone down to replace that?

Shiro put the flashlight between his teeth and flicked out the switchblade knife he kept in a concealed pocket. Angling the side  
of the knife to the surface to avoid blunting it, he tore the paper from edge to edge. And almost dropped the knife. "_What was that?_"  
Fire, his first thought had been. Or electricity. Sparks struck by the knife?

He climbed out, more uneasy than he would admit. He usually didn't bat an eye at shady things, but this… He put his foot to  
the lid and shoved, as he had seen the principal do, but had to give it up. Braced on his knees, almost parallel to the ground,  
he pushed the lid back. Then he climbed back up the tree, waiting.

It was quite stupid, really. Shiro had long since eaten the onigiri he'd brought, and he couldn't help but think that he was on  
a wild goose chase while his friends were enjoying themselves at the concert. He couldn't even know for sure if Faust would  
replace the paper, if he'd do it today, or tomorrow, or next week.

On cue, just as he thought definitely of leaving, a stark white cape came marching in the dusk. If Shiro didn't know better,  
he'd say it was the stride of someone annoyed. When Faust reached the manhole he snapped his fingers once.

"_What the…_"

The lid slid aside of its own accord. Faust snapped his fingers again, and his cape disappeared in a poof of pink smoke. He  
went down. Shiro rubbed his eyes.

"_I must have fallen asleep. I can't… this can't…_"

Faust came up again. As easily as kicking an empty beer can, he put the lid back in place. Then he… studied the ground. Shiro  
didn't know what else to make of it.

"_I threw the branch into the bushes_", he reminded himself, nervously biting his tongue. "_There shouldn't be anything…  
maybe one drop of blood, that's… no, he couldn't see that, it's too dark…_"

Faust said something that he couldn't quite make out, but it sounded like "oya oya, they are a handful all right". Then he  
continued down the path.

Shiro lowered himself down from the tree, sneaked from bush to bush as swiftly as he dared. He admitted, peering from behind  
a drinking fountain, that he had no idea what he was doing. If Faust turned into a dog, what would he do? If he turned out to  
be some crazy German wizard, how would he ever convince others of that? He followed him to…

"_The janitor's tool shed?_" This didn't make any sense, nothing made any sense… "_Damn he's tall_", he thought when he  
realized how small the door was next to Faust. He was feeling around his pockets, then came the rattling of a key ring.  
"_He's really going into the janitor's shed?_" But when the door opened light flooded out. The room was immensely larger  
than the tool shed, and furnished with heavy pieces in pinks and stripes… And then the door shut, and Faust was gone.

He didn't really think it would work, but he skulked over to the shed. The door was locked. He studied the lock and fished out  
some other instruments he kept concealed. After a minute of poking and twisting and gentle coaxing, the lock yielded. Shiro's  
flashlight revealed dirt floor and rakes, loppers, a lawn mower, spades…

"_Am I going crazy?_"


	6. 6: Fight or flight

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Akuri-sensei sure was cute. The way she constantly pulled a strand of hair behind her ear when she read aloud from  
the course book was nice. The way her skirt rode up her thigh when she sat down was even nicer. And the way her blouse  
seemed at least two sizes too small for her chest… Never mind that English was his worst subject; he had the best teacher.

Shiro was absorbed in imagining Akuri-sensei naked when Fuji came in late. There was nothing noteworthy about that,  
but when sensei lectured him (surprisingly sternly for someone so hot) he actually looked… devastated. He apologized,  
bowed, and took his seat a couple of rows behind Shiro. Before long, a note was passed to him.

_Big trouble, Shiro-san. Tell you more after class._

No matter how hot Akuri-sensei was, Shiro was very uncomfortable that English lesson.

"They're onto me." Fuji looked like he would pass out any moment. "I heard it from a second-year prefect. They found a  
receipt in a bag that smelt of chòu dòufu, and they went down to the shop where it was printed and asked, and today  
they left a report with my name's on it at the principal's office!"

"I'm sure you'll get away with a warning, Fuji-san. It was harmless after all."

"That's easy for you to say, Shiro-san! You're always on time, even if you dress sloppy and daydream through your lessons!  
Same with you, Yasuda-san. My record's bad as it is, and I don't have good grades either. They'll tell my parents for sure."  
His face crinkled up with desperation. "My dad's going to kill me! He'll say I'm a high-cost low-outcome investment and  
take me out of school!"

Shiro bit his tongue. He would've just laughed it off if it had been his name on that report, but Fuji was… wimpier. He  
tagged along because Shiro was strong and smart and a daredevil, everything Fuji wasn't: Shiro was well aware of that.  
Still, Fuji was part of the team. He'd taken his fair share of blame for things, and was responsible for getting the cigarettes  
that Shiro was too young to buy. That was a realistic turn of events with his parents, even if he got away with a warning.  
And whose fault was it that the bag with the receipt had been found?

"I'll get that report. In fact, I'll go get it straight away."

They both stared at him. It was difficult to read what was in their eyes – admiration, fear, incredulity... he didn't give a  
damn. A man cleans up his own mess, that's all. If you couldn't face up to it you couldn't handle it, and if you couldn't  
handle it you would run from it. Shiro wasn't a runner.

And so he found himself asking directions for the principal's office. It involved many stairs. In fact, being the head of a school  
seemed to indicate that you also had to be at the head of the school. A school that really could benefit from a few escalators.

At the grand, white double doors, Shiro hesitated. It surprised even him: he never hesitated once he'd set his mind on  
something. But this… "_C'mon, it's not like I haven't done it before._" He wiped his palms on his trousers and wished he  
could have a smoke. "_Or is it because the place I'm breaking into belongs to a monster principal who can turn into a dog  
and open space portals?_" Shiro sat down on his haunches and peered through the keyhole. "_Oh I'll be…_" The room was  
the very same he'd seen through the tool shed door. And it was empty. Good. "_I wonder if I can pick that lock…_"

As it turned out, he couldn't. He couldn't find anything for the lockpick to catch on, which suggested that there was no  
internal mechanism and the lock was more or less painted on the door. That was a ludicrous thought, since the door  
was obviously locked.

In the end, Shiro had to admit that sometimes the world really is ludicrous. He put away his instruments. Took a deep  
breath. Considered. Then he unlatched one of the windows in the corridor and climbed out.

The principal had quite the view from up there, he had to admit. The tickly, exhilarating feeling of doing something  
reckless rushed down his spine and pushed him out of the window, down onto a narrow ornamental ledge. Thank  
higher powers that the academy was built like a wedding cake; at least he'd have many chances to catch hold of  
something if he fell. On the other hand; many things to hit before he landed, too.

Knuckles white and switchblade in mouth, he edged his way on the ledge towards the panorama windows outside the  
office. He felt a little like a pirate and a little like Spiderman, but mostly like an adrenaline-tripping teenage boy doing  
the possibly stupidest thing in his life. Well, a short exciting life was better than a long dull one…

He got around to the window and found a set of panes that opened, but stopped. He could easily slide his switchblade  
into the gap and push open the latch, but that also meant cutting the paper slip stuck to the window. Faust would know  
that someone had been in his office, something he had wanted to avoid. Moreover, he had some way of knowing that  
these weird papers were destroyed, and where. A manhole in a park had a five-hour time window: how much time  
would he get for tearing one just outside his office? Less. A lot less.

Shiro bit his tongue. He scanned the desk inside and concluded the man was well organized and had all papers neatly  
stacked (despite the desk being crowded with an impressive collection of weird toys and anime figurines). He wouldn't  
have to go through them all, then, only the ones that were reports from prefects. That narrowed it down to perhaps…  
twenty minutes. The ones that had come in today should be on top, or at least stacked separately. It was only 2 p.m.,  
not that many reports could have been filed. Say ten minutes. Would that be enough? If that really was a magic lock,  
and Faust had a magic key, and Shiro had understood the event in the park properly, then Faust could stick that key  
into any lock and step right into his office. So, ten minutes for him to get to any door? If he was in a crowded place and  
wanted to keep the magic secret, maybe. If he was alone, Shiro was toast.

And so was Fuji. Dammit.


	7. 7: A reckless boy

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

The paper tore with the same strange, blue sparks as the last one had. Well, time to wonder later. Shiro flipped the  
latch, opened the window and jumped down. Blade in mouth he scanned the stacks of papers, leafed through the  
top layers and skimmed the text. Personnel reports, funding requests, sponsoring requests, memos, management  
reports, being a principal seemed like hell…

The panorama window exploded in a shower of glittering shrapnel. Shiro dove under the desk, heart racing. What the  
hell? Why, of all days in the week and all weeks of the year, did this happen now? He jumped out, knife drawn, adrenaline  
rushing. Nothing. The office was empty.

Shiro crashed backwards on the floor, sharp pain tearing his left shoulder. Out of pure instinct, he kicked. Whatever  
that was, wherever it had come from, he wanted it a thousand miles away from him. He didn't even feel his wounds  
as he rolled to the side and got up. A huge, sinewy… dog… tiger… thing… It smelled like rot, and though Shiro knew it  
was impossible, that thing must be dead. It bared its teeth and gurgled at him. He circled to have his back against a  
wall, knife poised in reverse grip to allow for stabbing while the lower arm and elbow provided defence for head and chest.

"_I'm so dead…_"

It came closer on legs that seemed barely attached by skin and tendon, black liquid oozing from mouth and eyes. It  
was, beyond a doubt in the world, dead.

"_Here's your zombie apocalypse, Fuji_", he thought, and despite how crazy it was, he smiled. "Come on, you ugly piece of shit."  
He feigned an attack, to intimidate, but the thing responded by lunging.

Shiro went for the floor, letting the thing carve up its side on the knife through its own momentum. He landed under it,  
stabbed straight into the inside of its thigh and rolled out, hoping he'd at least slowed it down. No. It didn't even notice.  
No blood came from the wounds, only thick, oozing blackness.

"_What the hell is this…?_"

"That's quite enough. You: out."

Faust stood in the doorway, a garish pink umbrella slung over his shoulder. The dead monster dog froze, ears perking up.

"You heard me", Faust scolded. "Get. Out."

The dog took the room in two bounds and leapt out the window.

"Oya oya, what have you done to my office?" He sounded as if he'd come home to find that the cat had knocked over the  
same vase it always knocked over. He removed top hat and cape and put them on the coat hanger, leaving the umbrella in  
the umbrella stand. "Ukobach." A resounding poof, and a purple monkey with kitchen gloves and an apron stood beside him,  
bowing. "Get a Doctor up here, immediately. We have a ghoul type injury. Some ramen would be nice, too~" The little  
monkey bowed again, and Shiro thought for a moment that it looked like it had horns, before it disappeared in the same  
manner it had come.

Faust walked up to him. Shiro couldn't help but stare at a peculiar hair curl that bobbed as he went.

"Congratulations", he smiled, and Shiro's attention immediately switched to the very long, very sharp teeth that smile  
revealed. Was it even a smile? Or was it more like a predator about to snag its prey by the neck? "You are the greatest  
troublemaker the academy has ever seen. Pleased to meet you, by the way~ I usually feed burglars to the goblins, but  
I can't very well do that with one of my students, can I? Too much additional paper work. So, a different solution~ Put  
that knife away, for starters: I don't allow unauthorized weapons at my school, and you wouldn't be able to kill anything  
with it anyway. You have an aptitude for improvised drama, yes~? Got you out of many sticky situations with teachers?  
So, you were waiting in my office when the Naberius broke through…" he glanced at the remains of the window, giving  
Shiro ample opportunity to notice his pointy ears, "my poorly constructed barrier. Making me a sloppy principal and you  
an innocent victim of circumstances – you don't have any difficulty acting according to that, do you~?"

When you don't understand a thing, play along. Shiro nodded, put away the switchblade and sat down. Now that he  
wasn't in immediate lethal danger the wounds hurt infernally. Was that dog venomous? Or why had Faust said ghoul  
type injury? What was a Naberius anyway? A zombie dog? And that little monkey-creature… Both had understood and  
obeyed Faust. Of all the weird things there, he was the weirdest. Just look at those boots. And that voice. You couldn't  
trust a word that voice said.

It was, or had been, an exquisitely furnished office. A nauseous feeling in Shiro's stomach followed that notion: what if he  
was required to pay for the damage? The carpet alone looked like it was worth more money than he'd had in his life, and it  
was full of black… stuff. The chairs the Naberius-zombie-thing had smashed at some point had an old, European look to  
them and, oh, crap, don't let that be silk coverings on the cushions…

The unpleasant train of thoughts was interrupted when a man in long, black coat came rushing through the doors. Shiro  
had seen people in such coats from time to time, and always assumed they were school inspectors or something  
thereabouts that didn't concern him. The man introduced himself hurriedly as "Neru, upper middle class exorcist of True  
Cross Order", and set to work on his shoulder. All the while, speaking with him and asking what had happened: probably  
trying to evaluate whether he was in shock or not – Shiro had no idea, but he didn't feel shocked. Answering according  
to Faust's cover story, he tried to determine what he did feel. Every hair stood on end, as if he were a transmitter for  
electric current.

Shiro had expected a shot, antiseptics, a patch and a good-to-go, but was treated with an assortment of salves that smelled  
strongly of herbs before getting bandaged. All the while, Faust sat back in a chair and watched. Where he got that instant  
ramen from was anyone's guess.

By the time Neru left, Shiro had settled down and had his mind set. He might be the one at fault here, but Faust wasn't  
lily-white either.

"Why do you know who I am?"

Faust put his chopsticks down in the ramen cup with an unimpressed look.

"Academy prefects have been stuffing your name in my ears since the day you enrolled. Fujimoto Shiro did this, Fujimoto  
Shiro did that, Fujimoto Shiro-should-be-relegated-and-why-aren't-you-doing-anything? Nothing is done because there  
is no evidence - unless we count this little incident~" He grinned. "Of all things, I never thought I would catch you for larceny."

"I didn't think I would be almost killed for larceny", he retorted. "What kind of school is this, exactly? If he was an exorcist",  
he motioned his head in direction of the door, "then that thing, the Naberius – was that a demon?"

"Indeed it was." Faust looked very pleased. In a discomforting sort of way. "True Cross is an academy for bright minds, and  
for the Japanese branch of the Vatican exorcists."

"But you're not an exorcist."

"Certainly not~ I am your principal."

Shiro met his gaze evenly. Green eyes, he'd noted. Not green in any way natural, but green as moss and spring leaves.

"What I meant was, you don't exorcise demons. You don't have to, if they obey you. Are you a demon?"

"There is no doubt in your voice, and yet you address me in such rude manners? Tsk tsk, what a reckless boy. Reckless,  
but observant~" He clapped his gloved hands in mock applause – or was it sincere? Damn that voice, it was impossible  
to tell… "There are demons like the Naberius that attacked you, who mindlessly go after anything that breathes: and  
there are demons like me, who find the human world a quite agreeable place to live. I work with the Vatican to keep it  
that way. You don't look the least convinced", he noted, and Shiro could have sworn that as his eyebrows went up in  
lazy disinterest, his ears went down in annoyance.

Seeing that Shiro wasn't about to comment, he moved over to take a seat behind the desk.

"_I can't believe his shoes... or those tights..._"

"Your grades don't betray it, and your careless behaviour certainly doesn't, either, but you're clever." He snatched the  
remains of the paper slip from the window frame and sat. "Who would be better suited to run a school for exorcists, you  
think? Who knows more about demons than a demon?" He braided his fingers together and tilted his head ever so slightly  
forward, casting shadow over eyes that, Shiro realized, glowed faintly. "Who would be better suited to look after little  
troublemaking humans and make sure they don't get themselves killed?"

Shiro could have sworn the temperature dropped ten degrees at the change of tone in Faust's voice. His heart froze.  
He'd always thought that a stupid expression, but there and then he understood it perfectly.

"However~" Faust's voice bounced back to that peculiar lilt. He laid his chin on the folded fingers with a flirtatious smirk  
that added another dimension to Shiro's discomfort. "To go one-on-one with a Naberius, with only that little pocket knife –  
that's something. I could look between my fingers with your breaking into my office _and _endangering other students by  
sabotaging my barrier, if you do me a favour in return. Eins, zwei, drei." Faust snapped his fingers: the overturned  
furniture tilted back in place and reassembled, the splintered glass patched itself back together in the window frame.  
Despite himself, Shiro watched the show unfold in amazement. "You may be responsible for a great deal of vandalism  
at True Cross, but you weren't the first to destroy the wards. This is the deal I offer: you help me find out who is sabotaging  
my school, and why, and I will let you off the hook." He flashed another beaming smile. "Nothing quite like blackmailing  
to lay the foundation for good cooperation, hm~?"

"Yeah, aren't things just dandy? But you know, making deals with demons never end well", Shiro observed, one corner  
of his mouth pulled into a grin. "Why should I trust you?"

For a moment, Faust stared blankly at him. Then he burst out laughing.

"_I don't know if he's scary or embarrassing…_"

"Ahahahaha, hah, hehehehaha, ahaha! The nerve! Hahaaa! Ah, I'm cracking a rib! Ahaha! Oya oya, I see I'm talking to  
a young man who knows the ways of the world", he smirked. "Very well~ If you help me, your record will be clear as spring  
water: for that I give you my word." He spread his hands. "A demon's word is a contract written in the living rock, in  
effect until the foundations of earth crumble. Is that good enough for you~?"

"Not quite."

"Eh?"

Shiro rose. Faust was used to pulling the strings, alright: that kind of cocksure authority demanded opposition. And  
Shiro was True Cross Academy's foremost, undisputed daredevil.

"I came here for a friend, Hirawara Fuji. There is a report with his name on it on your desk." He looked the demon square  
in the eye. "That paper needs to disappear."

"I can make that happen", he said, an odd… mesmerized look on his face.

"Also." Shiro put his hands on the desk and leaned in, so close he could have counted the eyelashes on the drooping lids.  
Fixing Faust's reptile pupils with a calm face, he pushed further: "I don't trust a man, or whatever, who won't use his real  
name. If your name is Johann Faust the fifth I'll be Astro Boy. So, whose word do I have for this?"

"The word of lord Mephistopheles, one of the nine princes of the demon world." Something flashed in the green eyes. "And  
you, Fujimoto Shiro, are the only human alive who knows that."

-

Shiro made it one step out of the office, then he had to sit down. His heart pumped like crazy. Closing his eyes and resting  
the back of his head against the wall, he let out a long breath. He felt like he had been holding that breath the entire time.  
A demon. A real, live, goddamn _demon_...

Shiro didn't quite understand how he had pulled off what he had just pulled off, but his body was certainly feeling the effects  
of it. The world – world_s_, if what the demon had explained was true – had turned themselves inside out and puked him into  
a racing spiral of madness. He had just made a deal with a demon prince, enrolled at a secret school for exorcists and…  
who cared? Who cared what he had done? His body tingled, a huge grin plastered over his face, and all he could think of  
was tomorrow.


	8. 8: Crossroad

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Shiro fingered the key in his pocket the whole next day. It was large, heavy, and held the promise of a different life. A life  
where magic was real, demons also, and True Cross Academy was a battleground for something greater than the everyday  
world. He fingered the key, because it was the sole thin promise he had that yesterday had been more than just a dream.  
Though he still felt a bit of vertigo, the wounds had closed overnight to four barely visible streaks of pink.

Fuji was over-the-top when Shiro explained that the report had been taken care of – he actually gave him his trophy from  
the rock concert: a lace bra from a cute shop assistant in True Cross Academy town. Upon hearing _how_ he had broken into  
the office, Yasuda proclaimed him a clinically insane, suicidal idiot and asked for his autograph.

It was quite a nice day, actually. When he made up an excuse of going on a date (he'd picked up a twelfth phone number,  
a crêpe shop-assistant with at least F-cup) they just grinned and gave thumbs up. So why did it feel so strange when he  
went back to their dorm room alone?

"_That's right_", he thought, hand on the doorknob, "_I've never lied to them before._"

But Faust had told him to keep his attendance at cram school secret. He had also said that he could make up any story he  
saw fit to explain to the other cram school kids why he studied there, if the need arose. Shiro's eyes lingered on the door  
without seeing it. Any story. A new beginning, another one. Another layer of dirt to bury the past.

"_Good._"

When he stepped in, the new uniform lay neatly folded on his bed. He changed, then considered. He removed the  
switchblade and the lockpicking equipment and stuffed them into a pair of socks. Then he pulled out the chair from the desk,  
unscrewed the cover of the vent and hid them in the air duct. Some things belonged in the past.

Hefting his shoulder bag, he put the key in the room door and turned it. Pushing his glasses further up his nose,  
he grinned wide. And opened.


	9. 9: Down the rabbit hole

**A/N: I don't own or profit from anything that Kazue Kato has created.**

It looked like True Cross Academy, and yet it didn't. Shiro took in the high, vaulted ceiling and the marble-paved floor.  
This place looked older, and more… austere. And empty. Good. Because there was one thing Shiro _had _to do.

He selected a door on random, put the key in the lock and opened. He saw the door he'd come through open, and his  
arm stuck out through it. Shiro grinned wide, the way you do when you've just cheated the laws of nature.

He pocketed the key and strolled along searching for room 1106, an unlit cigarette between his teeth. He had hoped  
to get there before everybody else and seemed to be doing well so far. When he opened the creaky door to the classroom  
there was only one other person there: a brown-haired guy a wee bit on the heavy side. Shiro instantly wanted to take  
him out on a bar-crawl. Checking that weird impulse, he raised a hand and grinned.

"Yo. Fujimoto Shiro, nice to meet you."

The guy bounced up from his chair, knocking it over, and struggled to get it up as quick as possible before greeting Shiro  
with a formal bow.

"Karegawa Ryuuji – and nice to meet you too!" he beamed. He was the exact opposite of Johann Faust: this guy had  
the most earnest, likable face Shiro had ever come across.

"Good to know I'm in the right place." He scratched at the back of his head with a sheepish smile. "I'm new to this."

"We all are. Classes should have begun last week, but were postponed. So... um..." Ryuuji wore the look of someone  
trying desperately to come up with something to say.

"Have you got the schedule?" Shiro helped. "I haven't got a clue what we're doing today."

"Oh – it's introduction, demonology and P.E.. They give you all theory before they let you do anything practical. Well,  
P.E. is practical, but not exorcist-practical, if you- yeah, you know. And then there's tests, but I don't know anything  
about them. My brother wouldn't tell me. I have an older brother, see, who's already underway Meistering as Tamer, and-"

"Oi, oi, slow down. I'm new, remember? What's Meistering?"

"Oh." Ryuuji flopped down on his chair with a weak smile. "Sorry, I forgot. Well, once you're past the first two stages,  
Page and Esquire, you choose which class you will specialize in: Tamer, Doctor, Knight, Dragoon or Aria. You can Meister  
in two, if you want. I was thinking of Doctor, and maybe Dragoon. I've never held a weapon before, though, so I don't  
know if I'm any good. I mean, what I really would like is to be a Knight", he blushed and looked down, "but I'm too  
clumsy. And I don't think I could fight with a sword, you know… up close… it takes more guts than I have… Sir Pheles  
is a Knight, you know." He glanced up again, looking like a kid about to showcase the pride of his toy collection. "Honorary  
Knight, they call it – did you know the Vatican created that class solely for him? How cool isn't that?"

"You mean Mephistophe- Mephisto Pheles?" Trust that clown to come up with such a stupid pseudonym.

"Yeah. He made me want to become an exorcist. When my brother came home over holidays and told me about exorcist  
cram school, and that the principal was a demon, I was all 'wow!', you know. 'If he can do it, so can I!'"

Shiro didn't know what to make of it. Was the guy a demon? But he didn't have the ears, his teeth were normal, and he  
wasn't strange in any… hang on. He was strange. He was-

Shiro wasn't given any more time to ponder as the door hit the wall with a startling bang. He reached for a switchblade  
that wasn't there.

"At least we had the guts to stay and fight, you piece of dog shit!"

"'cause dying is so much more important than getting people to safety!"

"Getting _your _asses to safety, you mean!"

Shiro didn't know what they were on about, but the guy with the piercings definitely had the upper hand in the fight,  
poor as it was. Neither knew what he was doing. They swung wildly, trying to get as many punches in as they could.  
Shiro leaned on Ryuuji's bench, arms crossed, and watched.

"Shouldn't we stop them? They could get hurt…"

"They _will _get hurt." He let the cigarette loll up and down. "They might even learn something from it. Like blocking."

The door creaked, and in came a tall girl… and then the fight was over.

"Well, I do say… at least someone in here knows how to fight." Shiro grinned appreciatively at the amazon who held both  
guys down on the ground.

"She looks like she could snap their necks in a single twist", Ryuuji whispered with a tint of horror.

"She looks like she could crush their heads with her boobs. I wonder if those are natural…"

"Is this the famed True Cross Academy? A bunch of hormonally challenged teenage runts?" Her voice was arctic ice,  
slowly creeping over the landscape and grinding rock to gravel. "I hope you're better at fighting demons." With that  
she let go and got to her feet. She wore the sleeved type of uniform with full stockings to go with the skirt, her hair  
kept in a tight bun. Shiro had never been into the soldier-librarian fetish, but he was prepared to reconsider.

"I'm Katsuda Agari, and I'm here to become an exorcist. What's your reason?"

Ryuuji looked like he wanted to crawl inside his bench and hide.

"I'm Fujimoto Shiro, and I'm here because I want to." He flashed his best smile. "Nice work, by the way."

Agari eyed him head-to-toe and quirked the corner of her mouth. Whether she appreciated his boldness or mocked him  
was anyone's guess.

"You crazy bitch…" The pierced guy kneaded his neck and the arm she had twisted.

"What the monkey means to say is that you could have been gentler", the other guy ground out as he got up. He was  
taller than the other, and lankier, and he had _the look_. The look of someone whose self-assurance is almost as overblown  
as his wallet. Agari shoved him back down with her foot.

"You apologize first." She gave the other a dead glare. "Then you."

"He started it…!" came a muffled voice from the floor.

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Yaonaru Kita."

"Well, Kita-kun: do you think I care who started it?"

"…no."

"And what did I ask you to do?" When he didn't respond, she dug her heel into his back. Shiro was pretty sure those  
weren't the standard-issue shoes for girls.

"You asked me to apologize", he snarled.

"So, why are you wasting time answering questions I didn't ask? If I want to know who started it, I will ask who did.  
If I want you to behave less like animals and more like humans, and apologize to each other, then that's what I will  
tell you to do. So…?"

"I'm sorry."

The pierced guy, having witnessed the outcome of resistance, was quicker about it. He turned out to be Honda Shizuku.

In place of awkward silence came two more students, happily chatting and laughing. There was no doubt that one of  
the girls was a demon: red, black-tipped fox ears protruded from short-cropped, equally red hair. The other girl wore her hair long,  
carefully arranged in traditional fashion with pins and combs. Shiro congratulated himself to having two cute and one  
hot new classmate.

"We got lost on our way here, I'm sorry we made you wait." She sounded a little… dreamy. "I'm Futotsuki Sen."

"I'm Sakura Midori", the demon-girl smiled. She had fangs – and a glint in her eyes that made Shiro's head empty  
like a sink with a pulled plug. "Pleased to meet you all~"

-

"And that's it for introductions", Kohu-sensei concluded half an hour later. "One last formality to set, and then we  
will begin your first lesson. Who in here has yet to receive a mashou?" Kita raised his hand. "Good. Normally we  
would summon low-level demons for this, but if any of you would do the honours", she looked from Midori to… Ryuuji?  
"Then we could proceed with minimum delay. Of course, nobody will force you if you don't want to."

"I can do it", Midori offered.

"Thank you, Sakura-chan. Meanwhile, I would like to stress the advantages of having hanyou in exorcist squads.  
Not only are they stronger and sturdier, but many have inherited special gifts from their demon parent." Midori  
distracted Kita with a smile and a wink, and made the tiniest cut in his arm with a very long, very sharp nail. Shiro  
quietly lamented that he hadn't raised his hand. "Some, for example, have excellent sense of smell and can help  
track down demons. Others have good hearing and can tell long beforehand if you are being followed or ambushed.  
What you need to remember is that some of the weapons we use can also harm our comrades. Holy water, for  
example, is sometimes doused on exorcists to provide protection in battle. This tactics does not work for hanyou."

Midori got back to her chair, a single tress of hair at her neck trailing behind like a tail.

"So, your very first lesson: demonology. The classes, names and characteristics of demons, and how to fight them.  
Sounds simple, doesn't it?" Kohu-sensei fished out a stack of books and placed them on the desk with a wry smile.  
"This is the literature I had when I studied demonology. The Testament of Solomon. De Praestigiis Daemonum et  
Incantationibus ac Venificiis, with appendiced Pseudomonarchia Daemonum. Clavicula Salomonis. Clavicula Salomonis  
Regis. Liber Juratus Honorii. Compendium Maleficarum. To give you a sample of what it was like, Clavicula Salomonis  
Regis lists 72 demon lords. In Pseudomonarchia Daemonum, the number is 69. The demon lord Leraye is mentioned  
in both, but with five variations to his name. There are countless records of the princes of Gehenna, the most  
high-ranking demons save for Satan himself, but not two list the same names and very few give the same numbers.  
In Pseudomonarchia Daemonum Amaimon is King of the East, whereas in Liber Juratus Honorii all spirits associated  
with East are benevolent, and Amaimon is said to be King of the North. In all works he is King of Earth – that is, in  
the works that mention him at all." Kohu-sensei made a sweeping gesture to the books. "It's a miracle that we  
could exorcise anything at all. And I won't even start on possession of inanimate objects, or the connections with  
demons in Arabic, Talmudic, Hindu, and Buddhist records. You are required to have a superficial knowledge of these  
works, but this is the only one you actually need to study. Pass them down the rows, please."

It was a tome rather than a book, made with lightweight paper to be at all possible to lift. _Comprehensive Demonology  
for the 20th Century_, the title read.

"This is the only book in the world that ties together and makes sense of the mess I have here. It contains all the  
names, classes, abilities, characteristics, seals, fatal verses and weaknesses, and it is henceforth your Bible. Read it,  
eat it, breathe it. You will have a test on the first ten chapters in two weeks."

Shiro flipped open the table of contents, which by itself covered three pages. Earth demons, fire demons, rot demons…  
a separate chapter for the princes of Gehenna. There were eight of them, and none called Mephistopheles. Had he lied?  
And should he be surprised? Shiro closed the book, but opened it again when his eyes caught something on the  
dedication page: _Compiled and printed with the kind help and great knowledge of Johann Faust V._ …what was the deal  
with the little star?

"_Well, if I were a demon I wouldn't give my weaknesses away to the enemy either…_" But the exorcists weren't Faust's  
enemies. He had allied himself with the Vatican against Satan. Or so he had said. How well can you  
trust a demon...?


	10. 10: Frustration

**A/N: I don't own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created. I also apologise for the formatting: imagine  
the breaks between events, will you? ;_;**

P.E.. One of Shiro's better subjects - well, normal P.E., at least.

"Remember: if the dökkálfr's vines touch you, you're dead. Well, uh, not _dead_ but, you know, speaking figuratively…"  
The professor, upper middle class exorcist Gokuro, was an almost comical sample of stage fright, fidgeting and stuttering  
and looking in all directions except at the students he was instructing. "If you die, a comrade needs to carry you back to  
base where you will be restored."

_Honeybee_ had very simple rules: steal a sandbag from the guard without getting touched and make it back to base. What  
made it different from regular P.E. games was that the guard really was a dökkálfr. A lower-class one under Gokuro-sensei's  
control, but still…

"_I can't believe it. It's like kindergarten…_"

There is no better way of discerning the personalities in a group than by making them solve a task.

Shizuku had charged ahead like a bull on rampage, dodging a few vines narrowly before getting hit. Kita ignored him  
as he advanced, observing from a safe distance and waiting for a chance to sneak in while the dökkalfr was focused on  
Agari. She was doing a solo-performance of what seemed like a very draining exercise in advancing and falling back.  
Sweat already dripped from the tip of her nose: Shiro looked forward to when her t-shirt would be soaked through.  
Meanwhile, Ryuuji danced hesitantly on his toes, looking for an opening to get in and drag Shizuku out: Sen had already  
given it a go, and been hit. Midori had insane stamina and a quick step, but her efforts to get support from Agari were  
completely ignored.

"Oi. Guys." Shiro was there to observe and investigate: that was his agreement with Faust. He had not planned on  
stepping forward like this, but their performance was unforgivable. "Guys – and girls –, we need to think this through.  
Oi! Would you just-"

A giant, slobbering blob of fur exploded into existence and roared Agari in the face, covering her in yellowish spit. It hit  
Midori square in the chest with a thick, arrow-tipped tail and made Ryuuji trip over his feet with a yelp. Even the dökkálfr  
held still for a bewildered moment. The thing trained its huge, yellow eyes on Sen.

"Shiro-san is trying to say something", she said with a soft smile from her spot on the ground. "Thank you, goblin." The  
demon disappeared with a muffled bang.

"Eh, yeah… Thank you, Sen-chan... Look, this isn't working. _We _aren't working. It's plain as day that this is an exercise  
in cooperation, and we're making asses of ourselves." Shiro shifted his feet to stand more firmly. If he was going to take  
on the leader-role he might as well act it. "Agari-chan is a good sprinter, but lacks stamina." The tall girl's glare hardened,  
but she didn't protest. "Shizuku-san is a sprinter, too: you two should be taking the bags. The rest of us will provide  
distraction and carry those who fall. Midori-chan has the best stamina, and she's quick: she should be the main decoy."  
Midori nodded weekly in agreement, still recovering from having the air knocked out of her. "You adapt according to Agari-  
chan and Shizuku-san, and we adapt according to you. Sen-chan and Kita-san are both built lightly and are easy to carry,  
so you would be the best sacrifices if-"

"Sacrifices? You said this was a co-op exercise", Agari said, face set in stone. "Throwing comrades to the sharks isn't my idea of  
cooperation."

"I thought you came here to become an exorcist, Agari-chan", he said, challenge seeping into his voice and eyes. "Throwing  
themselves to the sharks is what exorcists do, to protect people. Anyone who isn't prepared to put his or her life on the line  
for others shouldn't come to True Cross Academy."

Agari eyed him for a long while, her strange smile quirking into place eventually.

"You talk big, Shiro-kun. Very well: let's see your plan in action."

With coordinated distraction they got Shizuku and Sen back in the game, and from there it went smoothly for the most part.  
Sen tired quickly and had to be resurrected a few times, which let them discover that Ryuuji, though not very nimble, was  
strong enough to handle that task alone. Once that was established, Ryuuji became the main rescuer while the others  
concentrated on distraction and retrieval respectively. That was good, especially since Kita always managed to be someplace  
else whenever Shizuku needed rescuing.

The best fire to forge understanding is suffering, and the cement to build bonds is sweat. Panting, aching, limping and dripping,  
they looked at the twelve sandbags at the end of class and shared exhausted grins.

-

"Nice speech", Shizuku said in the changing room. "I think ye're about the only one with a shot at getting that flagpole ta  
listen. But you should watch it a little, ye know." He gave him a sideways glance as he towel-dried his hair. "You were right in  
what ye said, but man: don't say things like sacrifice. A word like that in a place like this opens old wounds. I lost my dad and  
two sisters in an attack." Shizuku turned, allowing Shiro to see the pinkish, ragged scars of something that had torn deep  
into his back. "I bet Agari-chan's lost a few too. Ye seen the way she looks at Midori-chan and Ryuuji-san?" His brown eyes  
grew darker. "Things could get ugly there. I don't blame 'er for holding a grudge 'gainst whatever killed her folks, but ye gotta  
make a difference between demon and half-demon. Ain't that right, Ryuuji-san?" he spoke up cheerfully as Ryuuji came out  
of the showers.

"Well, I… I guess." He looked lost but smiled, still with that earnest likability that Shiro had never seen any human possess.  
"I mean, there's good and bad people, and good and bad demons, so… I guess there are good and bad hanyou too."

"Good and bad demons?" Shizuku raised a pierced eyebrow.

"Yeah, y-you know… some demons actually help people… and… and Sir Pheles switched allegiances openly…" Ryuuji was like  
a fish on dry land, floundering and flopping helplessly. "He… he's my hero. No demon or hanyou has ever accomplished what  
he's done. No demon has ever gains- gained enough trust from the Vatican to be appointed to that kind of- that kind of position.  
He-"

"Hold on. Sir Pheles is our principal, right?" Shizuku had forgotten all about clothes or towel. "Is he a demon?"

"Yup", Shiro provided in light tones. "Kinda surprised me too, but when you think about it: who knows more about demons  
than a demon? Who would be better suited to supervise the training of exorcists?"

"And who would be a better spy for Satan than a demon inside the Vatican?"

"Shizuku-san!" Ryuuji looked horrified and hurt: a combination that went in like a spearhead between the ribs.

"I was just thinking!" Shizuku snapped. "Ye have to admit it's weird. The Vatican's been using demons to get information  
for centuries, alright, but they never _trusted _them. Why this one? What did he do to gain that acceptance? If anyone  
could tell me that, I might feel a bit easier 'bout it."

"That's classified", Kita enlightened dryly.

"Who asked you, dipshit?"

"Oh, some monkey that charges headfirst into anything without obtaining information beforehand. I bet_ everybody _here knew  
Sir Pheles' origi-"

Shizuku's forehead struck Kita's nose bone with a devastating crunch. Kita responded with a crooked right that glanced off  
Shizuku's cheek, then a knee in the groin. Doubled-over, Shizuku head-butted the other in the guts and slogged his arms around  
him. Both went down on the floor.

Shiro's eyebrow twitched.

"Oi! Cut that out, you monkeys! Ryuuji-san, give me a hand here!"

Before Ryuuji had found the courage to step in with his monster-strength, Shiro had contracted a split eyebrow and a painful  
throbbing in his ribs. He, Shizuku and Kita were sitting in the infirmary: the latter two getting their asses chewed off by nurses,  
and Shiro sullenly getting taped together by a male nurse. How to explain this to Yasuda and Fuji? "The date didn't go well"?  
His lips stretched somewhat. Yeah, that would give them a good laugh.

-

The explanation would have to wait until tomorrow. The whole dorm was in bed when Shiro sleepwalked his way to his room,  
dumped the shoulder bag, shuffled down to the bathrooms and had to think really hard to get the right end of the toothbrush  
into his mouth. Checking his reflection, he did wish he'd gotten hit harder. Scars like that in the face looked manly.

"Guten Abend!"

Shiro shrieked, then remembered everybody was asleep, choked on the toothpaste, and coughed white froth into the sink.

"What are you doing? You wanna kill me?"

"Poor use of investment – no. How was your first day in cram school~?"

Shiro gave him an empty stare, glasses askew and a string of toothpaste-saliva dangling from his lip. Man or demon, how  
could anyone sound so chirping cheerful at three o'clock in the morning? A second question, formed by some very sleepy  
part of his mind, knitted his brows:

"Does this mean one of your magic keys goes to the dorm bathroom? On second thought, don't answer." He washed off the  
toothpaste, splashed water on his face and readjusted his glasses. "My first day? There's a personality test before admitting  
students, right? The weirder the better, and extra points if you have short temper?"

He turned again to face Faust, only to find that he had seated himself atop the tissue automat next to him; back straight, one  
leg crossed over the other and hands resting on his knee, a look of barely contained excitement on his face. He looked like a  
saintly little junior on his first school day, eager to absorb every word from the teacher: that was the kind of rubbish associations  
Shiro's brain saw fit to connect to the information his eyes supplied. A different part of his mind questioned if any tissue automat  
in any parallel universe could support that weight; yet another part tried to remember if he'd ever seen a _man _sit like that before.

"The people who apply to cram school usually are a colourful array. What do you think of them?"

Shiro dug around in his sleep-fogged quagmire of grey matter.

"Agari-chan is dynamite waiting to go off. Stiff, unimaginative, bull-headed and independent." He considered. "But not  
unreasonable. She'll listen to people she respects. She's a good fighter. And she's got huge boobs." Don't ever try to talk to  
superiors when tired. Don't talk to _anyone _when tired. "Kita-san I didn't talk much to, but he seems as if he lives to tick  
people off. Even if he gets whacked for it. Which he does. A lot. I don't even have to do it myself 'cause everyone thinks he's  
a dick. Midori-chan is super-cute." No. Shut up. Reset and reload. "She's probably the best fighter, too. Is it common? That  
hanyou apply to the Academy?"

"Many half-demons become exorcists, for different reasons."

"For different reasons…" Yeah, there sure were many different reasons in his class. "Sen-chan is the one I know least about.  
She's cute, too." Man, why even care? If you've killed the dog you might as well cook it. "But it's like she's not really there.  
She did this strange thing today… She summoned a familiar during class, just to break up the chaos and get people to pay  
attention to what I was saying. Or maybe that's normal?"

"You have your way, I have my way: is there a right way, or merely different ways~?" the demon hummed good-naturedly.

"Right…" Shiro massaged his tired eyes with thumb and forefinger. "Who else? Ryuuji-san. He's a bit on the timid side, but a  
nice guy. Too nice, he doesn't know how to speak for himself. Another hanyou from the looks of it, but nothing like Midori-chan.  
He worships you." Faust sniggered happily. "Then there's Shizuku-san, who thinks you're a spy sent by Satan."

"Oh, really~?" Rather than extinguish Faust's good mood, the comment painted a smirk on his face that was downright  
devilish. "And what do _you _think, Shiro-kun~?"

Shiro raised his smarting eyebrows. Was he tired enough to do this? Had enough of his common sense gone to sleep?

"I think you enjoy messing with people's heads." He fished out a cigarette, clamped his teeth around it, clicked open the  
lighter, and lit it: each act a measured defiance. Not once did he break eye contact. "And I think it annoys the hell out of  
you when it doesn't work."

"Quite the contrary." The smile grew wider, the eyes narrower: Shiro could have sworn the demon _purred_. "The possibility  
of failure is the reason for embarking on any enterprise." He took a nimble leap down. "And how dreary to put dear  
Serendipity out of work with flawless plans~ I'm looking forward to hearing more when you are less tired." He touched  
the brim of his hat. "For now: Träum was Shönes~"

With that, Faust disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.

"_What a clown…_"

Shiro then realised that he couldn't draw breath through his cigarette. Possibly because it had been replaced with a liquorice  
pipe. He grumbled and fished around his pocket for a new one, only to find the packet gone. In its place was a note: _Those  
things will be the death of you. And they stink. – Sir M. Pheles_. And a star.

"_Pff, bite me…_"

**A/N: I don't know if anyone noticed the Nietzsche-reference, but I put it there anyway (slightly modified to flow  
better)****. Mephisto seems fond of his philosophies, so... yeah... =)**


	11. 11: Classmates and teachers

**A/N: This took a while to write, mostly because of research. I needed the right thing for Tamer class, and... suffice to say,  
when I found it my eyeballs plopped out on the keyboard. Took 3-4 hours, but bloody worth it. =)**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

While Shiro did see the strong points of Aria – being armed at all times, able to finish off a demon in one go and so on – he didn't like the  
idea of being a sitting duck with a neon sign of "kill me!" above his head. He didn't like that his life depended on whether or not he  
remembered to put an 'O' before 'Lord' in the right place. In the heat of battle he'd rather trust instinct and reflexes.

Having said that to the face of Nao-sensei, or Goggles, as she was called, Shiro was given the honour of memorizing ten additional chapters  
of Jeremiah every week. And while he had it on his tongue to protest, he had to admit that, really, he didn't want to cross that woman.

Goggles-sensei had her nickname from the safety glasses she wore, containing a water solution that kept her from going blind. She had  
lost eyelids and some other parts of her face in battle, adding a very intimidating look to her scarce five feet. When she chanted aloud,  
Shiro could almost believe the rumours that she had once killed a demon with a fatal verse _after _it had escaped back to Gehenna.

"You got any tip on how to memorize all that for next week? I noticed you were good."

"There are ways, but not for you." Kita took the corridor in long strides; almost as if he was trying to outpace Shiro. "Optimizing memory  
capacity takes arduous exercise from early age, preferably with a time limit to mimic in vivo-conditions."

"Okay, so I'll do it the slow, tiresome way. Oi, if you don't slow down I'll trip you." He adjusted his bag mid step, trying to find some way  
of keeping up without the _Comprehensive Demonology _beating the back of his leg purple. "What I really wanted to ask was that thing,  
what you said about Sir Pheles. You know why he's trusted when other demons aren't?"

"And as I said, it's classified."

"So how come you know?"

Stepping on sore toes was something Shiro greatly enjoyed, especially with people like Kita: he looked like he'd just been hit with a horse  
apple, glaring back at the thrower with a thin layer of disdain attempting to cover affront. Of course Shiro knew he was from a distinguished  
bloodline of exorcists; Shizuku had told him. He just wanted to help set those frown lines into permanent wrinkles. If you are a prick, at  
least make sure people can tell before they make the mistake of addressing you.

"My maternal grandfather is in the Vatican Council. My paternal grandfather works in the Vatican archives, and handles all important  
proceedings and decisions. They confide certain things, but it stays in the family."

Oh, the way he emphasized family… If this had been back home, Shiro knew exactly what he would have done to that kind of impudent,  
cocky...

"Isn't that tiresome?" He spoke in casual tones. "Carrying the expectations of a family like that all alone – what if you fail your exams?"

Kita rewarded him the Glance of Scorn. Shiro had to hand it to him, it was good enough for capital letters. Must have taken a lifetime to  
perfect.

"Unlike you and the others, I've been preparing for this my whole life. The odds of me failing a single exam come in the fifth decimal."

A nice, clean punch to the jaw. Wouldn't take too much force, either. Kita's height would give a perfect angle; enough for the jaw to  
dislocate, pop back, and be stiff and sore for weeks.

Unfortunately, he needed Kita to be able to speak.

"Of course exams won't be a problem", Shiro replied in honey tones. "It's when it comes to real life-combat that the Yaonarus turn tail  
and hide in their bunkers." Another piece of information Shizuku had kindly shared. Shiro countered the Glance of Scorn with a devastating  
Smile of Fake Compassion. "It's good that some things stay in the family."

The lanky boy trembled with rage, his mouth a thin line under flaring eyes. While not nearly as satisfying as hitting him, it took the edge  
off the urge.

"_Too high and mighty to start a common brawl, are you?_" he thought, corners of his lips curling upwards with feral glee. "Can't even man  
up against an ordinary human, can y- Wha-?"

Shiro's feet dangled above the floor, a furry claw lifting him by the collar of his uniform. His reflection stared back at him with a startled look  
as he faced the huge, yellow eye of Sen's familiar. Next to him, Kita found himself in similar predicament.

"You will be late for class", Sen informed, her voice like grass shifting idly in the breeze. She looked like a little moving ornamental doll, all  
large eyes and outdated hairstyle. Midori, barefooted as always, sauntered over to them and cocked her head with an attentive look. Then  
she smiled like purling water and nodded.

"Like bickering magpies indeed~" She gave them each an amused look. "She would bite your tails if you had any, goblin says. Is what you  
do with little naughty goblins." She cocked her head again, ears tuning in on some unheard sound from behind. "Is Agari-san, methinks.  
Don't let her catch you fighting, hm~?" She winked. "See you in class!"

Sen's goblin disappeared with a muffled bang. Sen herself followed Midori, walking right past as if they weren't even there. Kita didn't spare  
Shiro even a glance, but strode ahead at fast pace. Shiro leaned against the wall, tucking a cigarette between his teeth and shoving his  
hands in his pockets.

So, Kita aimed to become a paragon exorcist? Not much motive to sabotage the school there. Although he'd just scratched the surface,  
Shiro didn't think Kita was the type to do something like that: he was the all-talk type that he had a deep, fundamental dislike for. If one  
_really_ pushed the point, it would be more of Kita's style to have some henchman or henchmen to do the dirty work for him. Then again:  
motive? None that he could see.

True enough, Agari turned the corner only moments after the others had left. Several meters behind was Ryuuji, walking like someone  
with a gun to his back.

"Oi." He nodded an informal greeting. "Why do you look like you've shit yourself?"

At first Agari seemed about to retort, then she spun around. Ryuuji froze like a deer.

"Go on." Agari motioned for him to walk. "I don't like having people walking behind me."

The thought of having Agari walking behind him gave Ryuuji's face an almost visible hue of green.

"Try smiling, Agari-chan." Shiro chuckled despite Ryuuji's silent pleas for help. "You could scare off demons with that stern face."

Tamer class was led by a short, jovial man who presented himself as Futotsuki Itsuhito.

-

"Tamers are quite different from other exorcists", he began in a rich, startling baritone. He produced a piece of chalk and started drawing  
in long, meticulous strokes. "Ours is the gentlest, and the cruellest way of fighting. Cruel, because we subjugate another being to do our  
bidding against its will: gentle, because most demons will rather withdraw than fight and harm one of their own – unless, of course, they  
have strict orders from one of the demon lords." Futotsuki-sensei's voice became sombre. "In that case, they will fight to the death.  
Subjugating a demon requires strong spirit, and strong blood; only one of the two won't be enough. In a class of seven, two at most will  
be attending Tamer class again. In this class three, since one of you is a Futotsuki." He mirrored the strange, disconnected smile Sen  
wore. "I want you to take a piece of paper from the stack here on the table, and draw the figure I have drawn on the floor. Be careful.  
The lines of a summoning circle require the same precision as the words and inflection of Aria chanting. I will demonstrate how it's done.  
First, an offering of blood." Futotsuki-sensei made a swift cut in his forearm, flicking blood down on the circle. "Then you speak the words  
that come to mind. Let that which is hidden be clear; let that which sleeps awake; illuminated by the flame that burns without scorching!"

The air in the room seemed to tighten in cramp, drawing towards the circle as of a giant sucking in breath. It swirled and whipped and  
condensed, until the ghostly shape of a great lizard had formed. Its eyes were burning coals, its tongue a thread of flame: the rest of the  
body was a thorny, rippling mass of oily smoke and glowing fire.

"This is a salamander, a demon of fire", Futotsuki-sensei said, regarding the creature as one looks at a dog or cat. "It is a powerful ally if  
faced with insect demons, plant demons or rot demons. But however powerful the familiar, they can all be expelled with a single stroke of  
a finger." Futotsuki-sensei kneeled and drew one finger across a chalk line, and the moment the circle was broken the salamander disappeared.  
"Demons are spirits, you see. In the physical world of Assiah, they are like fish on dry land. They can only come here if they shield their  
essence in a material object, as in possession, or are granted entry to our world through a summoning circle." He gestured towards the  
figure on the floor. "It is, in essence, a very weak gateway to Gehenna. Have you finished your circles? Good."

Ryuuji didn't succeed in summoning anything, which wasn't unexpected. It pleased Shiro very much to see that Kita failed. He wasn't  
surprised to see that Agari summoned a large, blue-scaled snake demon: the only one surprised seemed to be Agari herself. Taking one look  
at the coiled snake, its head reared up to look back at her, she tore the paper in half and expelled it.

"Very good, Katsuda-chan! The naga are prince Amaimon's subjects, fierce and protective. Keeping a naga familiar brings long life."

Shizuku and Midori tried, but summoned nothing. Shiro pricked his finger and stained the paper red. The first thing that came to mind, huh?

"Lend me power to take on all the opportunities of life."

The beating of mighty wings rushed through the room: before Shiro landed a bird the size of a pony, its head and claws those of a saluki,  
its feathers all the colours of the rainbow. It folded its wings gently over a peacock tail, regarding him with eyes the shade of time.

"Well, I didn't expect to be that accurate in my estimations", Futotsuki-sensei chortled. "This is a shahrokh. A spirit of air,  
associated with fertility. Stronger than she looks, too."

"She?" Shiro was still struggling with the fact that he had summoned anything at all. He actually had an aptitude for this…?

"Why yes: all shahrokhs are female. Kohu needs to drill you harder, dear Pages. So, three Tamers this year." Futotsuki-sensei scratched the  
scarce stubble on his chin, still smiling. "That's a good litter, it is. The rest of you, I'm afraid, will only be joining us for drawing seals and wards."

"Futotsuki-sensei", Agari looked like she was standing to attention, except for the eyes that were fixed on Futotsuki-sensei's feet. "I don't  
mean to be rude, but I have no intention of Meistering Tamer. Could I also come for seals and wards, and only that?"

"Ho? Well, if you really don't want to… Do remember that being Tamer is a unique experience, Katsuda-chan. It's a gift few have, and I  
would encourage you not to throw away the opportunity. Ultimately, of course, the choice is yours."

-

At the end of class, Shiro shuffled over to the little man.

"Futotsuki-sensei…" Shiro wasn't used to hearing his voice sound so hesitant. "If I tear the paper, can I summon her again?"

He hoped he was pulling the right strings. Unless his ears had been completely malfunctioning, Futotsuki-sensei might have interesting  
things to say if stroked the right way.

The smile the exorcist gave him was almost fatherly.

"Tell her to leave and she will: keep the paper and you can summon her again, any time you like, so long as your mind is set on it."

"You have a very peaceful familiar, Shiro-kun." Sen was admiring the vibrant plumage with ginger fingers. "Nothing like you at all."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he grimaced.

"Shiro-kun has the will of earth, the mind of water and the heart of fire: and yet his familiar is of air. How is that, uncle?" She trained her  
big, unseeing eyes on Futotsuki-sensei.

"I don't know, Sen. He has the makings of an excellent Tamer, though", he said, smiling. He then glanced at Shiro as if that was a statement  
of deep importance. "I never say that in class, because it is Futotsuki philosophy and not Vatican policy, but there is one thing as important  
as strong blood and strong spirit in a Tamer: strong compassion." He strode over to the bird-dog that still sat, unmoving, and watched with  
serene eyes. Their faces were almost level. Gently, almost reverently, he laid a hand on its cheek. "The familiar mirrors the Tamer, to a  
certain extent. The Vatican doesn't acknowledge that, because that would be to say that man and demon are not so different. I don't think  
we are, personally. You can tell her that she can leave until you call again, Fujimoto-kun."

"You can go now, if you want. I'll call for you if I need you. Uh, and thank you for coming."

The shahrokh spread its wings gracefully, and in one powerful beat it was gone. Shiro folded the summoning circle neatly and tucked it away  
in an inside pocket.

"The truth is that nobody knows, of course", Futotsuki-sensei resumed in lighter tones. "But it doesn't hurt to look at things from more than  
one side. Now, I'll be teaching those hopeless second-year Tamers in a minute, so I have to ask you to leave. Don't hesitate to come by and  
talk, though. I'm always eager to hear how my little niece is faring – and how her classmates fare with her. Good bye!"

**A/N: It would appear I unwittingly included a reference to Sandman in this chapter... Well, it's a great work. Do read it if you  
find the opportunity.**


	12. 12: The die is cast

**A/N: Me and my research... I did some calculating on what year this takes place, cross-referenced it, and I'm quite certain this is 1975. (I'll put the mathematics at the bottom for you. =3) So, anybody recognizing what contemporary anime I've tweaked in...?**

- 04-10-2012 Meh, minor editing... ^_^' Mostly because I don't want to write my biology report...

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"You'll have to excuse, in an old man like me hearing isn't what it used to be: what did you say about my glasses…?"

The first-year boy squirmed on the ground to get his face out of the dirt. Shiro sat on his back, feet planted firmly on both sides of the  
boy's head, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Your glasses loog gool!" he said through a swollen, bleeding nose.

"Damn right they do: so why did you say they look stupid?"

"I- I did't!"

"I don't really think you're hearing what I'm saying here." Shiro plucked the smoke from his lips and tapped the ash off into the boy's upturned  
ear. He whined and thrashed, turning to make it fall out. Shiro shoved him facedown into the ground with his foot. "I heard you saying you'd  
break my stupid-looking glasses. Right?"

"…yes."

"And what did I say I would do, if you called my glasses stupid-looking?"

"You- you'd burd by eyebrows off…"

"Exactly. But I can't do that while you're eating dirt. So", he drew a breath on the cigarette, "you will get up and be a good boy and stand very  
still, or I might burn off more than I intended. Are we good with that?"

The boy nodded silently. When he got up, dusting his ruined shirt off, he was actually crying.

"_Wimp_", Shiro thought whilst playing with his lighter. "_All words and no guts._" He flicked the ignition. "See, this is the main difference between  
me and people like you: I don't make promises I don't intend to keep. Or threats."

-

Nobody opened when he knocked on the double doors of Faust's office. That was very odd, since Faust was the one who had set the time for

the meeting. Shiro fiddled with a cigarette, put it between his teeth and tried the handle. Finding that the door wasn't locked, he entered. A  
lime-green curl peeked up from behind the backrest of a couch that reminded him of a marshmallow.

"Oi, I'm here."

"Yes, and horribly bad-mannered too. Take a seat."

Shiro plopped down in an armchair so soft it almost swallowed him. Faust lounged in his couch – lounged in the sense the word should be  
used. He looked like he not only owned the world, but had his own private swimming pool annexed on the moon.

"'Busy with work', you said. You don't look too busy."

"Looks are deceptive, and some things are more important than work~"

"Like _that_?"

"_That _is culture, young man." Faust pointed a bishop pawn at the tv-screen with a flick of his wrist. "It nurtures the soul, cultivates the  
mind, relieves the dreariness of everyday life." He put the pawn down on the chessboard, then turned the whole thing around to play the  
black. "And, of course, watching the French suffer is a pleasure in its own right."

"It's a show for kids!" Shiro laughed.

"It's about life and death, love and war! And it's got masked heroes!" Faust's indignant sulk was priceless. "The subtlety of true art is beyond  
the grasp of primitive monkeys like you." And with that, he crossed his arms and returned to analyzing his one-man-chess-game. Meanwhile,  
the tip of his curl vibrated like a tuning fork.

"_Demon prince my ass_", Shiro laughed silently in his throat. "_He's more of a kid than I am. What a quirk…_" The screen was entered by a  
sword-wielding blonde girl in a very revealing bodysuit. "On second thought, this might be worth watching."

"Might? Shiro-kun, if there is anything worth watching, it's French women with swords. Without even intending to, they become the very  
essence of womankind – the feline allure, the elegance, the _fire!_" He positively bounced on the seat as the blonde girl launched into a  
passionate speech, fencing sword brandished. "She's no Oscar-sama, but until they make anime out of Berusayu no Bara~ I  
hope they make an anime. They have to. It's too good not to", he hummed with a happy grin. "Oh Nadine, so fair and so valiant: what will  
you choose when matters are taken to the edge~?"

With some very detailed and very enthusiastic summarizing from Faust, Shiro got really into the story. As the scores rolled, he made a  
mental note to book the tv in the dorm common room to watch the next episode.

"Check mate, white wins. Again." Faust sighed at the board. "And I thought I had myself this time… So! How are you doing?" he  
hummed, treating himself to a colourful sweet from a bowl containing mostly wrapping paper.

"As I see it, there are two possible reasons for breaking the barrier." The cigarette lolled up and down between his teeth. "Demons have an  
interest in doing it, for obvious reasons, but they can't get inside in the first place unless the wards are destroyed. So a human did it. Probably  
not to have the school overrun by demons, though. The only people who would do this kind of thing are the ones who want you to look bad in  
the Vatican's eyes. There seem to be quite a few of them", he added, eyebrows rising. "And in Tamer class it hit me there could be another  
category: humans who view demons as misunderstood monsters and don't want them killed. What really sucks is that this gives us reason  
to suspect both demon-haters and demon-lovers, which narrows it down to just about everyone." Shiro dug his little finger into his ear, trying  
to reach an itch. "What I'd do is-"

"Eins, zwei, drei."

A tissue box poofed into existence, hovering right under Shiro's nose. What was he supposed to do with that…?

"I can't abide uncleanliness", Faust enlightened, the curl on his head twitching disapprovingly as he glowered at the finger in Shiro's ear.

"Oh fine. Anyway- Ouch! What the-aaaah!" Just as he tossed the crumpled tissue on the table, sharp pain stung his leg. Something black  
and white, button-eyes glowing with malice, had bit into his trousers. "What the hell is that?" He frantically shook the thing off and pulled  
both legs up in the armchair. On the floor, the panda-shaped wastebasket bounced up and down, chewing air, its hinges creaking menacingly.  
Shiro stared at Faust in wide-eyed horror. "Just what the hell- Why do you keep creepy-ass things like that?"

The lexical definition of smugness rested its head in its hand, pondering with a pleasant look of amusement.

"What? You don't think it's cute, Shiro-kun?"

"Cute?" He glowered at the fiendish wastebasket, shuffling his feet even further from the chair's edge. "What part of getting your leg bit off  
is cute?"

"A bit on the dramatic side, are we? I'm sure it's just a love-bite~"

"I don't care what it is! I want the damn thing to get the hell away from me!"

"Now now, that is no way of speaking to a familiar." Faust cocked his head. "I received word from Futotsuki-san, by the way.  
Congratulations~ Would you summon your familiar for me?"

"If you get that _thing _off me."

"Tsk tsk, you got him onto you in the first place. Feed him and he will leave you be."

Shiro tossed the crumpled tissue to the wastebasket, which devoured it viciously. Once the offending object was gone, it seemed content.  
He produced the summoning circle from his pocket and reached, for the fiftyleventh time, for the switchblade he no longer carried.

"Allow me~" Faust pulled off one lavender glove, tugging one finger at a time in the fashion of bygone days, and...

"_How does that even...?_" There was no way his gloves could fit over those nails... "_Claws_", he corrected himself. "_Humans have nails._"

Mephisto's predator version of nails were a dark, almost black hue of purple, and sharp as scalpels.

"That", Shiro said with emphasis, "is even creepier than the wastebasket." He leaned forward and pressed a fingertip against the claw, calling  
his familiar.

For a moment, the two demons sat stock-still. Faust blinked. Then he broke out laughing. The shahrokh's long ears drooped, her head lowering.

"Oya oya…" He stroked his goatee, glancing at the chessboard he had repositioned for a new round. His grin gained company from the same  
strange, mesmerized glimmer Shiro had seen in his eyes the day they struck their deal. "Indeed…"

"Indeed what? There something special about summoning a shahrokh?"

"Perhaps there is, perhaps there isn't..." He picked up the white rook, turning it over with an absentminded grin. "Before chess, all games  
relied on chance alone. Strategy, mathematics, scheme~ whatever the words, what chess really is is man's attempt to overcome chance: to  
have control, if only within the confines of a game board, over your fate." Faust set the rook down. "A useless pastime indeed~" He lifted the  
king with sharp claws, studying it with an eerie smile. "No game of tactics is worth playing without that unseen participant, the elusive lady  
Chance. And now she invites us to a game~" He put the king back – and swatted down all the pawns on the board. "And play we shall!" He  
rose and snapped his fingers with a maniac grin, adding top hat and cape to his outfit. He tugged the glove back on, and with a flourish he  
offered a corner of his cape to Shiro. "Hold on tight, boy. One of the wards has been disturbed."

When you don't understand a thing, play along.

-

Travelling by means of magic keys was fine; travelling by means of magic alone was not. Shiro felt like he was stretched out, like a rubber

band, and then bounded back with a snap that scrambled all sense of up and down and directions of less importance. It was a bit like fitting  
one's foot halfway into the shoe and walking like that, except it was his body that didn't really fit. With a second poof and more pink smoke,  
Faust assumed the form of the white dog. He trotted along at surprising speed, Shiro tight on his heels.

They left the privacy of the laundry-drying alley they had appeared in, navigating between rows and rows of sheets and clothes on lines, out to  
the night market. Though only evening yet, shops were being set up and the streets were filling up. The smells and sounds soon enveloped  
Shiro, as the atmosphere of a proper night market* does. Lanterns of all colours rivalled over the people milling about, cast rippling pearl necklaces  
on the surface of the pond the market was set around, and occasionally made ghostly veils from the steam of octopus balls sizzling or sea snails  
boiling. The yells of hawkers mixed with merry haggling between regular vendors and regular visitors, and from further away rose the sing-song  
storytelling of a biwa:** all gathered into a murmuring choir of night by the cicadas in the trees.

Shiro had loved the night market since the day he learnt there was such a thing held in True Cross Town. He used to go there with Yasuda and  
Fuji all the time, and when they tired he went alone. He never bought anything, save for oden. His favourite came from a food cart between a  
yakisoba food cart and a stand selling cheap jewellery: he didn't have to place an order there anymore, only show his face. Then he would walk  
up and down the market and let it soak into him, watching, listening, smelling, remembering…

No time for that. Faust steamed ahead like a little wind-up toy, weaving elegantly between feet and stray pond ducks, while Shiro had to fight for  
every step in the throng. He caught up with the dog by a small Shinto shrine at the pond shore.

"Take it off."

"You can talk in that form? That's… awkward."

Shiro sat down on his haunches, pushed the shide*** aside and found, stuck to the ceiling of the little shrine, a torn ward. He peeled it off as  
gingerly as he could and held it out to the dog. A dog's face is very difficult to read for the untrained eye, but Shiro was quite sure the look  
was unimpressed.

"What would I do with that?"

He grew somewhat puzzled.

"Tracking…? Don't dogs have good noses?"

"I'b allergic."

Now that he said it, the bags under his eyes seemed heavier, and a steady stream trickled from his nose. Shiro's bewilderment did not decrease.

"To what?"

"I told you. Udcleadlidess."

Shiro buried his face in his hand, shaking with muffled laughter. True, summer heat had not been kind to the offerings of fish, vegetables and  
sake at the shrine…

"Very fuddy", the dog moped. "Lift off that rope, I'll be back shortly."

Moments later, Faust returned in human form from behind the vendor's stand. He attached a new ward to the ceiling, blew his nose, and rattled  
off a short incantation in a foreign language. He rose, and Shiro put back the rope with the shide.

"Subbod your fabiliar." He blew his nose again. "She might pick up the trail."

She did. They ploughed through the masses a lot easier this time, Faust's appearance both startling and well-known among the people of True  
Cross Town. Above, invisible to the eyes of ordinary humans, glided the shimmering shape of the shahrokh; each time she beat her wings, gusts  
rushed along the street and set the lantern light swaying in dizzying ways. To Shiro, they appeared to rock in slow motion. His body tingled with anticipation, drawing his heightened attention this way and that, until he felt the market around him as he felt the clothes on his skin.

The biwa performance came to an unorthodox end with a yelp and a thump. When they got there, a curious shahrokh was shooed and shoved  
away from the instrument by-

"Ryuuji-san…?"

**A/N: Shahrokh is a demon, but it is also Farsi for a chess manoeuver. It has yet another meaning, derived from said chess manoeuver:  
it means "great opportunity" or "great gamble". No wonder Mephisto was so excited about it...**

*** As I've understood it, night markets aren't really native in Japan, but I took the liberty of placing one in True Cross Town (blaming  
it on Chinese immigrants...?). They're so damn cosy, after all... =3**

**** A traditional instrument of the lute family. Sample of some sort: watch?v=bnt4CSZVJy8  
**

***** I had to look this one up... =P It's the name of the (usually) zig-zag papers one finds on Shinto shrines (though my first  
memory of them is** **from a comatose Inuyasha).**

**Mephisto seems inspired from Goethe's _Faust_, and the date of (the first proper) release of the first part of the opera manuscript  
(1808) matches his 200 year service in the Vatican. So we're around 2008 in the manga. I cross-referenced with the Jump SQ.  
magazine (first issue released 2007) Rin reads on p. 132 of volume 1, checking the release years of the series mentioned on the  
cover (Kure-nai 2007, Tegami Bachi 2006, Claymore 2001, Binbo-gami ga! 2008). So if Shiro died at age 51 in 2008, he was  
born 1957 (same as my mother, lol). He's in his third year in high school, which makes him 18 - thus, 1975. *takes a bow to no one***


	13. 13: Night market

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Shiro-san! Oh, thank the gods you're here! Tell your familiar to-" Ryuuji tripped over his own foot and fell like logwood with the biwa in  
hand. He realized his situation almost too late, twisted to land on his back, and nearly knocked his teeth out with the head of the instrument  
when he succeeded.

"Sir Pheles!" He scrambled to his feet with the elegance of an upturned beetle. "It's-s an honour to meet you, sir!" He bowed deep, almost losing  
his grip on the lute, and held on to it so tightly Shiro could hear the wooden neck creak ominously.

"A pleasure, Karegawa Ryuuji-kun~ I came looking for a Shinto shrine here in the night market district, but Fujimoto-kun doesn't seem to be of  
any help." He tilted his head with a smile that was the calm warmth heralding a thunderstorm. "You don't happen to know where it is~?"

"Oh I do, sir! I left shinsen there this very morning. Come, I'll show you, sir."

They followed the ecstatic icebreaker that was Ryuuji back the way they had come.

"Oi", Shiro whispered from the corner of his mouth. "I don't think it's him. He's too ham-fisted for a scheme like this."

"Is he always like this?"

Shiro gave it a moment's thought.

"When he's nervous, yeah. So he could be our guy. Possibly. But I don't think he is." And what if he was? Looks are deceptive, Ryuuji's even more  
so. For all he knew, he could be the one putting the academy in danger. And if it was Ryuuji, what would happen to him? Shiro smiled darkly at  
what he had said at that first P.E. class. Anyone not prepared to put his or her life on the line shouldn't come to True Cross Academy. A nice phrase.  
Never thought of the other ways in which it might apply.

"He could be a good actor: tanuki usually are", Faust mused quietly.

"He's half tanuki? How can you tell?"

The demon gave him a lewd smile.

"What is the most prominent feature of a tanuki, Shiro-kun~?"*

Shiro found himself in that awkward state between laughter and chagrin. Unable to look at either Ryuuji or Faust, he took to scrutinizing the  
trinkets in the market stands.

"…you pervert."

"And let he who is without sin cast the first stone~" he chuckled merrily.

Ryuuji couldn't even babble as he usually did when he was nervous. He waited for them at the shrine in a daze of bliss, smiling with his whole  
face and doing probably irreparable damage to his biwa's neck.

"I didn't know you played", Shiro said, trying his best to look at Ryuuji's face and nowhere else.

"Oh, I always have!"

And then he launched into a list of the instruments he played, the instruments he owned, and the instruments he hoped to own. In addition to  
the biwa he had a shamisen, a sho, a hichiriki, several ryuteki, and the pride of his collection: a tonkori, one of the few existing ones outside of  
Ainu communities. Shiro could not believe this guy would sabotage the barrier unless by accident.

"Hm~? What's this?" Faust picked up the torn ward and turned it over. "Was this here before, Ryuuji-kun?"

Ryuuji's features were the image of befuddled innocence. So perfect it was almost unnatural…

"I don't think so, sir."

Shiro caught Faust studying Ryuuji's face intently.

"I have had complaints about Academy students littering in town. Do let me know if you see somebody leaving these around, yes?"

"I'll keep my eyes peeled, sir!" Ryuuji failed a salute and whacked his temple with the biwa.

"Splendid~" he grinned. "If there is anything else you can help me with, I will let you know. Auf Wiedersehen~" And with that, he disappeared.

Ryuuji slumped gracelessly to the ground.

"Wow…" He clutched the unhappy biwa to his chest, eyes glittering brighter than the lantern light on the pond. "I've met him…"

"You gonna buy him chocolate and ask him out?" Shiro quirked an eyebrow. "Not that it's my business, but I think he's a little old for you."

Ryuuji's mortified mien had Shiro laughing until he cried.

-

"I was so, so blown away. I mean, _him_, _there_…! And he probably heard me play, too!" Ryuuji kept going it over in his head as they made their  
way back to the academy premises. "Too bad I ruined the biwa… It's not- I mean, I have another one at home, but this was a gift from my  
mother."

"Is she… gone?"

"Oh, no. No, she's not."

"So your dad's the demon, then?"

"Um, yeah… It's not like I've ever met him, but…"

"I'm not gonna ask your whole family history, you know", Shiro assured with a relaxed grin. "I'm just curious. Midori-chan is a half-demon,  
anyone can tell that – but with you I wouldn't have known if Kohu-sensei hadn't said it on that first day. Sure, you're freakishly strong, but  
you definitely look human."

"I do, but… uh… not really…" He fiddled self-consciously with the crumpled neck of the instrument. "My father was a tanuki who disguised  
himself as my father – or, well, as my mother's husband – while he was on a business trip." Despite his physical size, Ryuuji looked very small.  
"Mother wanted father to think I was his, so she cut off my tail and my ears when I was a baby." Seeing that Shiro automatically looked at  
his ears, Ryuuji pushed his hair a bit to the side. His ears looked normal, if one disregarded the uneven rounding and the absence of the  
fleshy outer rim. "She had my teeth filed down, too. That's the only part I can remember, because I was older then." A shiver pulled over  
him. "It hurt."

"That's a horrible bloody thing to do to a kid", Shiro growled, chewing the filter of his cigarette to mush. "She should've stood for what she'd  
done, not let you take the consequences. She didn't even do anything wrong 's far as I'm concerned. She thought the tanuki was her husband,  
right?"

"Well… maybe she was scared. I know I would've been." He gave the tiniest of smiles. "My brother is brave, though. Half-brother, that is. He  
just charges ahead and… and does things. Like you."

"Pff, I'm not brave." Shiro set a pebble clattering along the street. "Reckless, that's what I am. I get myself and other people into shit all the  
time." He spat out the ruined smoke. "But I sure as hell wouldn't cut the ears off a baby."

-

Back in the dorm, Shiro was wary of every shadow when he made his way down to the bathrooms. He opened every toilet door to be absolutely  
certain nobody was hiding there. He chose the basin at the end of the room, and brushed his teeth with his back against the wall so that  
nothing could sneak up on him. He'd looked up Auf Wiedersehen, and it meant 'see you again'.

There was nobody waiting for him when he went back out in the corridor. Rather than relaxing, he strained eyes and ears to every little sound,  
real or imagined. Moving as quietly as he could, he entered the room he shared with Fuji and Yasuda and slowly, ever so slowly closed the door,  
taking care to inch the handle back up to avoid the mechanism clicking.

"Guten Abend~"

Shiro spun around to a smirking face mere inches from his. He stumbled backwards, and the not-entirely-closed door dumped his weight out on  
the corridor floor.

"Goddammit, why do you do that?" he hissed, picking himself up.

The demon in the almost luminescent white costume tilted his head, face hidden in shadow.

"You didn't seem to enjoy talking in the bathroom, so~"

"Look, we can talk anywhere, just don't sneak up on me like that! Jesus…" he whispered, running a hand through his hair to gain time for his  
heart to thump down out of his throat. "Could you gather anything from Ryuuji-san?"

"If he lies, he's good." Faust unwrapped a sweet from his pocked and plopped it into his mouth. "I like your idea about chocolate, by the way~  
Côte-d'Or is my favourite."

Shiro face-palmed with a groan.

"Can you at least tell me beforehand when you're going to spy on-"

"Shiro-san?" Fuji's bed lamp lit up, showing something that was either a head or a gravely disfigured porcupine. "Who're you talking to…?"

**A/N: Now, I couldn't resist this, of course... The founder of Côte-d'Or so happens to be named Charles Neuhaus. (And I know  
there is a brand called Neuhaus, named after chocolatier Jean Neuhaus, but that would have been too blatant...)**

*** And you know what a tanuki's most prominent feature is, don't you~? Google it otherwise, the results are quite funny**  
**(especially Studio Ghibli's!).**


	14. 14: Charms

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Wow, how do you do that?" Ryuuji stared in awe at Shiro's target practice sheet.

"Gut feeling?" He shrugged, taking off the ear protectors; they made the frames of his glasses cut painfully into his head. "I used to do a lot  
of airgun shooting in Mepphy Land, and in games in the arcades."

"You should go for Dragoon, Shiro-san." Ryuuji gave a shy smile. "I heard Ando-sensei say so." He nodded discreetly in the direction of their  
Dragoon instructor, a plain-looking man standing a good hundred feet away in discussion with Kohu-sensei.

"I don't think I'm the only one he'd want for Dragoon."

A few booths away, Agari was putting her sheet through ruthless mastectomy. Her full lips pursed in concentration. A strand of raven hair  
had escaped the bun and hung – quite becoming – by her ear and curled slightly. Every rebound of the gun bobbed through her breasts…

"Yer not gonna defeat any demons by drooling, Shiro-san."

"If you still had anything down there after Kita-san got you, you'd drool too."

Shizuku barked a good-natured laughter. He had helped himself to a shotgun from the rack of practice weapons, and with all those piercings he  
looked like a veritable gang leader.

"I'm tryin' ta leave my earthly desires behind here! Now, if _you_'ve got anything up _there_", he tapped Shiro on the head with an ammo pack,  
"ye'll stay on her good side. Someone has to. Tame the wild-cat, o great leader." And with that he sauntered on to his own booth, shotgun slung  
over his shoulder and whistling out of tune.

-

"Good aim, good punch, good looks: what haven't you got?" Shiro seated himself next to Agari with a winning smile and peered at her clea-  
lunchbox. "You cook, too?"

"Yes. …do you want some?"

Yes would have been the polite answer, but at some point politeness has to give way for survival instinct. When you can't tell if food is boiled,  
fried or raw, that point is way passed.

"I've already eaten", he ensured. "Thanks anyway. Why are you sitting here and not in the canteen?"

"The canteen is too noisy." Her eyes wandered over the poplars and the gnarled old fruit-trees, the grass and weeds that peeked up furtively  
in the pavement of the lowered square: that special nook in every park that keeps to itself, like the first brown, curled-up leaf in autumn. "I'm  
used to dining in silence."

If that was a hint, Shiro was determined to blatantly ignore it.

"I'm used to being shorter than my best friend – doesn't mean I like being short." He fished out a smoke. "Want one?"

"No."

"_The looks of a model, the charm of a bucket…_" Shiro cupped the tiny flame of the lighter and lit the cigarette. "So what do you do for fun?"  
What's with that blank stare? Surely even an uptight soldier-librarian must do fun stuff sometimes… "Me, I go to Mepphy Land with my friends,  
or hang out in the arcade. Sometimes we go to the hot pools, and we never miss the night market. What do you do?"

"I read."

"Yeah? I-" He wondered for a brief moment if the magazines he read could be called literature, then quickly discarded the idea. "I don't read  
much. Would you recommend me something?"

"The Holy Bible."

"That doesn't sound like my kind of literature."

"The word of the Lord is needed most where it isn't heard."

Shiro quirked an eyebrow.

"Does that uniform come with a rod in the back? And I mean literally. You sit like a komainu* on guard."

"I wasn't reared to slack and slouch and smoke cigarettes", she returned coolly. "I'm here to fight in the name of God, and to bring death to all  
his adversaries. Do you believe in God, Shiro-kun?"

"Should I?" he smiled around the cigarette. "I don't need God to kill demons, just a good gun."

"Then you shouldn't call yourself an exorcist, but a mercenary."

"Oi, stop being so dead serious about things", he grimaced. "It's enough to make a guy queasy. Look, in practical terms anyone who gets rid of  
demons is an exorcist, and anyone who does is doing a good thing whether there's faith involved or not."

"You speak heresies in a Catholic school." If Agari's gaze grew any colder Shiro would have to dust frost off his cigarette. "I thought better of you."

To that, he laughed. Oh, this girl! Did she realize how hilarious she was? No, not at all. Agari's face was positively white with rage, and how  
wonderful she looked~

"Hate to break it to you, but I'm not a good person by any standards." He flashed a wolfish grin as he struck another nail in the coffin: "I'm still  
going to make one hell of an exorcist, though."

"Being an exorcist is about more than aim and strength of body, Fujimoto Shiro", she hissed between clenched teeth. "It takes strength of soul.  
Strength to resist the evil temptations Satan plagues the heart with. Strength granted only by the Lord to those who praise His name."

"Yeah? The Lord dishes out His fair share of temptation too, judging by the size of your-" Agari's hand left a burning mark on his cheek.

"Perverted scum!" Her lunchbox spilled its contents on the ground, and her other arm closed protectively over her breasts. "Those unclean  
thoughts of yours are the kind of thing demons feed on! And you would call yourself an exorcist, when you've already fallen to their temptations?"

Eyes and thoughts effectively diverted from Agari, Shiro realized there had been witnesses to this embarrassment. Midori's red hair added a late  
flower to the top of a pear tree, where she was passing fruit down to a softly smiling Sen.

"Eyo, Agari-san, Shiro-kun~! Come see what Shizuku-kun is doing?" Midori waved.

Shiro made a move to pick up Agari's lunchbox, but she caught his wrist and swatted it away.

"What keeps you? Don't you hear the demons' calling?" she said, not even hiding the scorn in her smile. The more beautiful the face, the more  
striking the hostility in it.

Shiro didn't bother to say goodbye. He set off towards Midori and Sen, inwardly cursing at himself. Nice job figuring out Agari, it would be so  
much easier now that she resented him.

"_I just can't keep my mouth shut…_" Things usually worked out anyway, when you were around people who knew how to bite back: when you  
weren't, you ended up being slapped in the face. There is no reasoning with people who have no sense of humour.

"Is not what they call 'smooth', yes~?" Midori said when she jumped down, soundlessly, laughter dancing in her eyes like sunlight on water.  
"Can't write calligraphy with a broomstick, you know?" She hefted a stack of chunky, medium-sized branches from the ground.

"Yeah…" He rubbed his stinging cheek, a hesitant smile forming. She'd heard everything, hadn't she? Half-demons had heightened senses,  
right…? "She's more tightly knit than I thought."

"No", Midori declared with a wink. "You _didn't_ think, Shiro-kun. Fun to you but not to her – is not the way to win a woman. No loss, methinks:  
she isn't right for you."

Shiro was so absorbed in listening to her voice that he barely heard what she said. That kind of odd cadence would have been attractive if it hadn't  
reminded him of Faust. Still, how could anyone be that cute?

"Shizuku-kun requested pear-wood for his omamori**", said Sen airily. "He said he would make me a gakugyo joju*** if I got him the material."

They walked leisurely towards the academy's main building. It was one of those sweltering late-summer days when people stayed where the air  
condition was, except some brave souls who sat outside with fans in the shade.

"I could use a gakugyo, too", Shiro thought aloud. "Do you know what you will be Meistering in after Esquire?"

"Tamer. And Aria", Sen replied, eating her pear in small nibbles.

"Double offensive or offensive and defensive." Shiro nodded to himself. "What about you, Midori-chan?"

"Doctor and Knight."

"Is everyone Meistering in two? I thought that was optional…"

"Is, but people who come here have – what do you call it? Strong will for goal?"

"Ambition", Sen helped with a warm smile. "The students here have strong ambition. Too strong, at times."

"What would you Meister in, Shiro-kun~?"

"I don't know. Not Aria, that's for sure. I haven't tried Knight yet. Futotsuki-sensei wants me for Tamer, and Ando-sensei is pushing for  
Dragoon. I think I'd do well in both…" In all honesty, Shiro didn't know if he would be around long enough to Meister in anything. It all  
depended on how fast he could wheedle out who was responsible for the sabotaging.

-

Shizuku sat under a fig tree, legs crossed and eyes closed in meditation. Beside him lay a leather bundle and an incense burner that looked  
like it had travelled around the world and a little further.

"'ello, little Buddha~ Shiro-kun wonders if he could get a love charm?"

"Wha-! The evil demon is weaving lies, Shizuku-san."

"That so?" Shizuku opened one eye. "She give ye that thing in ye' face, too?"

"Oh no~" Midori grinned. "That's Agari-san trying to rid him of impure thoughts~"

Shizuku laughed his loud, unrestrained laugh when Midori related, with mimicry that made even Shiro laugh, his failed courtship of Agari.

"Well, ye deserved it. Beating's the only known cure for stupidity", Shizuku chuckled as he unwrapped the bundle. "Ye didn't have to bring a  
whole tree, Midori-chan. There's enough wood here for all of you. Sen-chan wants a gakugyo – what about you?"

"Kaiun**** for me", Midori smiled, rocking back and forth on her bare feet.

Shiro thought for a moment.

"What do you wear?"

"These." Shizuku pointed to the piercings in his ears, eyebrows and nose. His other hand selected a whittling knife from an array of differently-  
sized, differently-shaped woodwork tools. "A special variety for my family. Peddling henro,***** people call us." He deftly cleared the bark off the  
wood, smoothing the corners of the little tablet with expert strokes. "We travel all directions, trading amulets and services for food and  
accommodation. The ones I wear are inscribed for a combination o' luck, protection and avoidance of evil." He picked up another tool without  
even having to look, setting to inscribe the prayer with a delicate hand-chisel. "I don't have any for protection from idiocy, sorry."

"That I could tell by listening", Shiro enlightened with a crooked smile. "Can you make amulets for other things? Like repelling demons?"

"Yup." He blew tiny peels of moist green wood from the first two characters in the prayer. Midori drew a deep, humming breath through her nose.

"So you could make, say, a barrier of wards around a place?"

"As long as there's somethin' to attach the wards to, yeah. A rope or a fence or something that goes 'round the whole perimeter. For small  
things a piece o' string will do."

"Does there have to be a rope or fence? What if you just put wards all around a place?"

"Then yer building a wall full o' holes, and things'll get through."

Shiro scratched his nose, trying to come up with a good way of asking. Midori had taken off to climb the fig tree, weaving swiftly back and  
forth between branches. Sen had taken to picking flowers in the shade, selecting her colours according to some pattern he couldn't grasp.

"I was told there was a ward that worked that way, but it could be bull. It looked something like this." Using his finger, Shiro drew an  
approximate image of the symbol on the paper-slip wards in his palm.

Shizuku kept looking at his palm. Then he looked up at Shiro.

"That's it? Definitely bull. That's not gonna ward off anything." He went back to carving and didn't see the look that crossed Shiro's face.

"Any idea what it could be?"

"Something used ta trick shorties with glasses", Shizuku grinned. "I'm told they fall for it every time."

"Have you got an amulet that wards off smartasses? I could use one."

"It's called fist-to-the-face. I see you've already got one…"

It takes a perfect day, with good laughs and pretty girls, for a dark cloud to dominate the sky however small it is. Shiro listened and joked by  
proxy, his thoughts busy with one thing alone: if Faust's wards weren't wards, what the hell were they?

**A/N:**

*** Komainu are the guarding lions outside gates of shrines, temples and such. I'm thinking of that very straight-backed variety,  
obviously.**

**** Omamori are the little tablets inscribed with prayers to help/protect the bearer. Usually wrapped up in a little bag (that you  
are not** **supposed to open), so I guess Shizuku keeps such in a pocket somewhere...**

***** Gakugyo joju is an omamori for students and scholars, aid in education and passing exams.**

****** Kaiun is also an omamori, for "open luck" (whatever that means - had a hard time finding out specifics in this area. There  
is supposed** **to be a blessing ritual involved, to imbue the omamori with spirit, but I couldn't find how it was done, so...).**

******* Henro means pilgrim. Here I use it for the kind of, well, "traveling monk peddlers" I made up. They came off a bit like the traveling,  
multi-talented** **craftsmen that have gone extinct in modern-day Sweden.**


	15. 15: Late night

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Shiro had smoked his way through almost a whole packet, unsuccessfully gassing the milling thoughts to death. Nights were good for thinking.  
This was a bright, clear one, ridden by the first hint of autumn chill. He'd tiptoed outside in the small hours, after poring over _Comprehensive  
Demonology for the 20__th__ Century_ until his eyes were no more than dry, smarting slits. There was no ward that matched the ones Faust had put  
all over the place. There was nothing even remotely like it in any of the chapters on symbols. And there was no way nobody else was aware of  
this: the school was full of exorcists, dammit – at least the teachers had to know! But nobody was raising questions about it, so it had to be okay.  
Right…?

And yet, the most convenient way of handling an inconvenient matter is to look the other way and remain silent. On the surface things will be  
normal, and underneath the cracks will grow and spread, until everything shatters: nothing is as destructive as neglect. Would people act like  
that, even in a place like True Cross? Oh yes. Matters might be complicated, but human nature is simple.

He flicked the cigarette away half-smoked and started walking. He walked in his mind at first: hands in his pockets, head down, stride rushed  
towards no goal. Then he walked with his mind: pace slowing down to a stroll, eyes tracing thoughts that chased each other across a landscape  
unseen. And then, eventually, he walked: one foot in front of the other, taking note of the sleeping streets and the softly breathing houses that  
inhabited them. Long nights of studying and double schedules at school was wearing on him, he knew that. And yet there were so many  
questions to be answered.

There were at least two players at work in this game: one who placed the so-called wards and one who dismantled them. A smile tugged the  
corner of Shiro's mouth as he thought of Faust's chessboard. Two players, one known; the question was who played white and who played black.  
Was the unknown saboteur actually _protecting _the academy, by interfering with some obscure plan Faust had going? Or was Faust protecting the  
academy in some way he couldn't understand…?

"_Well, good luck getting any straight answers out of him._" Shiro's feet had, like migrating birds called by instinct, led him to the night market. It  
was a pool of light in the sleeping city, just down the slope from where he had stopped. He really wasn't in the mood for it. "_I'll see where this goes._"

He left the lane to follow the creek that fed water to the pond. The forest felt more appropriate than bright lights and noisy crowds. There were  
memories walking in those market streets that he didn't want to meet right now.

Nights _are_ good for thinking; too good, sometimes, when the lonely rays of starlight reach down to illuminate the murkiest recesses of the mind.  
Once memories have spotted you, they have a tendency to follow at one's heels. Leaving the light behind and disappearing into the dark, as he  
had done once before… What had he been? Eleven? Eleven, and mad at the whole world. Mad at his parents for not doing anything: mad at  
himself, for not being able to do anything. He had done the only thing he could: he'd told the truth. Did that magically make things better? No.  
Like when his toy towers toppled, trying to catch the falling figures only resulted in toys flying all over the floor. The tower toppled all the same.

Shiro walked harder, disturbing frogs and stumbling over fallen branches he could have avoided. Like a man running from his own shadow. He'd  
run from one life, then another, and he still claimed he wasn't a runner…? He smiled sardonically at himself, stopping in the middle of an upward  
hill. The purling of the water and the chirping of insects pierced through his consciousness, yanking him back to the world outside his head. A  
breeze touched his back, as of unseen things catching up to him.

"_There's nothing there._" He turned halfway around, glancing back the way he'd come at the desolate forest. "_There's nothing to run from.  
Nobody here knows me. The past only exists in my head, and I really should let go._" Should, the mind says; but the heart wants differently.  
Shiro was still disappointed, still angry, and anger is a weed with roots that bury deep.

"Fighting our inner demons, are we?"

He flinched, eyes darting at shadows in the rising evening mist.

"Who said that?"

"I did."

The speaker was a shape standing atop the hill, vaguely outlined in the grey.

"Who are you?"

"A monk taking a shortcut." He waddled down the slope, careful not to slip in the leaves with his sandals. A short, middle-aged man with  
glasses. "And you are a young man with a troubled mind. That look on your face can't be mistaken. Some general advice for you, son: deal  
with the present and it won't come chasing after you later. But that's general advice", the monk smiled. "For more specific advice I'd need  
you to tell me about the troubles you have."

"They're already in the past. Nothing I can do about it."

"Time is the greatest of illusions, young man. In here", he tapped a finger to his temple, "there is no time. If anything in here causes you trouble,  
you can always do something about it."

"Can't bring back the dead."

"But that's not what you want, either", the monk smiled knowingly. "It's not their deaths that upset you; it's the way they lived. What a ruthless  
boy, not even mourning your own parents…"

"Shut up! How do you even-" A sudden burning sensation bit into his thigh. The monk fell back a step, and the eyes behind the glasses flared yellow.

"_Shit!_" Shiro threw himself aside and rolled to his feet, narrowly escaping the monk's next grapple. He reached for the switchb- "_Oh fuck it!_"

The monk's nose had grown into a beak. Unfolding huge, black wings, he lunged faster than Shiro could react and buried clawed fingers in his  
shoulders. The ground fell away beneath his feet. Foliage rustled in protest as they gained altitude, tearing up into the sky.

Shiro pulled out the thing his fingers had found where the switchblade used to be: the summoning circle. Smearing blood from his shoulder on  
it, he called the shahrokh. The world jerked violently, claws digging almost to the bone when he was swung to the side: he caught a glimpse of  
a muzzle full of fangs buried in the tengu's wing. Then his vision disappeared with a gasp of pain, as the demon let go with one claw to counter  
the shahrokh. Shiro's intestines lurched up his abdomen: they were falling.

"Oi, some of us can't fly!" he shouted, not really reflecting over whether he could get the point across to his familiar or not.

They struck a tree, and he grasped desperately for a branch, skinning his fingers on the bark. The tengu croaked furiously and pushed away with  
its legs, its claws gauging trenches in his shoulder. Then…

"_The branches…?_"

The branches reached out and grabbed him, twirling shoots around his leg and up his torso. The shahrokh clamped its jaws around the demon's  
neck, tugging and shaking as if it were a bite toy. It let go of him and tore at the other demon with both hands as they pivoted for the ground in  
a mess of feathers and fabric. Shiro grabbed any branch and twig he could reach and held on for dear life.

"_Holy fucking shit and six drunk fishermen…_" The moment of breathing space opened the floodgate, and all the terror he hadn't had time for  
surged through his veins. He trembled, breath fluttering, heartbeat thundering in his ears like the war drums on a battleship. "_Oh shit, oh god…  
I'm alive... I'm alive..._"

"Eyo, Shiro-kun, you okay?"

His eyes snapped open. There was the black body of the tengu, dissolving into dark miasma that mixed with the fog and dissipated. There was  
the multi-coloured shape of the shahrokh, and there was the dusk-dimmed red splotch that had Midori's voice.

"Can you see my glasses anywhere?"

People in strange situations tend to focus on mundane things: it makes them feel better. To Shiro, his state of wellbeing was in direct correspondence  
with the condition of his glasses.

"I tell her to go find them. You can let go, I will catch you." The colourful shape trotted off, the vaguely red splotch remained. Shiro had no idea  
how far up he was. Around him, the twigs had lost all sense of time and sported little budding spring leaves.

"I can't really see without my glasses."

"I see fine – you let go."

"_I might break something, but I'm dropping into the arms of a cute girl, I'm dropping into the arms of a cute girl, I'm dropping into the arms of a  
cute gi-_" Shiro's eyebrows knitted. "_What's she doing out here in the middle of ni-_" And then the branch broke.

Midori absorbed the shock as much as possible by bending her knees as she caught him bridal style.

"Your breasts look so soft…"

He had meant to say _thank you_, but was sidetracked by the fact that Midori wasn't wearing any shirt. Or bra. Or, for that matter, skirt or underwear.

"They are. You expect them to be hard, like cartilage?" her eyebrows rose in confusion.

"Er, no, of course not… I just…" Awkward. Naked classmate. Who wasn't bothered by being seen naked. Who made _him _out to be the weird one  
for thinking breasts were made of cartilage. "Okay, I don't understand shit. Why are you here? And why are you naked?"

"I don't like water from pipes – smells like metal. I wash here", she nodded at the creek. "Very nice swim hole upstream. Clothes I wear because  
humans do, and Sir Pheles says I must. Why is Shiro-kun here?"

Lovely skin, like cream milk, not a mark on her…

"I, eh… I just wanted to see where the creek led."

"In night, where humans don't see their own nose?" Midori tittered and started to walk, carrying him as if he were no heavier than an armful of  
flowers. "Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun~ I will clean wounds for you, or you will go to sleep and wake tomorrow like calving water  
buffalo."

Shiro couldn't really grasp what she meant by that, but the prospect of being undressed and tended by a cute girl who didn't mind being naked…  
It was almost worth being torn to shreds by a tengu.

-

"Thank you."

Midori set him down on the crisp carpet of leaves that covered the forest floor. There was a dip in the creek there, creating a little pool just deep  
enough to bathe in. White and black clots, which he assumed were Midori's clothes, were strewn on a rocky outcropping on the other side of the  
swim hole.

"You welcome, Shiro-kun."

She unbuttoned his costume and the remains of his shirt, inching them off gingerly where they stuck to the wounds. Shiro glanced at them once,  
then quickly returned his eyes to a nicer view. Midori was of slender build, every line and curve of her body soft to the eyes. Her breasts would fit  
perfectly in his cupped hands – small, but firm and rounded like-

"Bloody hell!" he hissed as she washed off blood with a shred of his shirt. The water was icy cold. "How do you bathe in that?"

"I always have~ Is you humans who have strange habits. Warm water makes body soft – cold water, hard. But not here", she added, a mischievous  
smile dancing on her face as her free hand cupped her breast.

Heat shot from his groin and knotted his bowels. Dammit. If he could only move his arms, he would have seduced her there and then. Shiro closed  
his eyes to prevent certain… embarrassing situations from arising. That, however, left the field open to imagination, and imagination is the greatest  
temptress on earth.

"Uaaah! Why did you do that?"

Cold water trickled down his forehead and neck, cutting his breath to hitching gasps.

"Cooling your head", she smiled unabashedly. "You look different without glasses. I see why tengu come for you: you have a demon's look in your  
eyes. Strong heart. Dark thoughts." Her smile softened into something that could have been sadness. "Be careful, Shiro-kun. A human like you  
will attract bad attention. I bind you now, and then I wash her." Her golden eyes moved to something behind Shiro. "Look, she found your glasses~"

She bound his wounds with more torn shirt and put the costume over his shoulders before she helped him put his glasses back on. Grace of the  
crusty carpet of yesteryear's leaves they hadn't been damaged at all.

"_I wonder how she knew…_" He cast a furtive glance down at his trousers. "_I know I didn't show…_"

He looked back at Midori, who was cleaning the shahrokh's wounds with the same gentle care. Would anyone go to these lengths just for a bath?  
At night? He certainly had noticed that Midori wasn't like other people, and not only because she was a half-demon. But under that outcropping  
rock behind her…

"_Is that why you're really here, Midori-chan?_"

The upper half of a ripped paper ward hung listlessly from the stone surface.

-

Shiro pretended to sleep while Midori carried him back to the academy. Well, he was going to, and then he fell asleep for real.

Midori shook him awake on the doorstep to his dorm. She said something, smiled, and left. He was going to thank her, but by the time he'd put  
the words together in his head she was out of sight. He considered lying down in the porch for a brief moment. God, he was tired. If he could just  
close his eyes for a while… The pain grew more and more intense and forced him to sober up, to the point where he was awake enough to admit  
that sleeping in the porch would be a very bad short-term solution. Teeth clenched, he searched his pocket for the key.

He found the omamori Shizuku had made him, for protection against evil. The charm had broken in half and burnt through the little textile bag.  
Shiro made a mental note to thank Shizuku and forced his aching muscles into a new dig.

-

**A/N: This is written with a mischievous wink at my friend Mickey, who was caught believing that female breasts consist of cartilage. At 16 years of age. x'3**


	16. 16: Waking up

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

Absolute blackness.

That was all Shiro could remember. When he opened his eyes, he knew there had been no dreams, no moving in his sleep, no transitory  
semi-consciousness between sleeping and waking up. Just black emptiness. He felt like a bag of rice. Heavy. Immobile. A slogging sack of  
minced meat.

He turned towards the bed table where he kept his glasses, his head lolling limply to the side accompanied by a tearing pain in his shoulder.  
Where the hell was his bed table…?

Shiro reached for the obscure shape of his glasses on an entirely different table. It was so easy in his head: in reality, his hand lay on the duvet  
like a dead fish.

"_Move, dammit…!_"

He had no memory of becoming paralyzed. He remembered the fall, but Midori had caught him. He was quite shure she had, he remembered her  
breasts. She had washed him and… carried him… Shiro  
screwed his eyes shut, groaning, trying to remember. He could move his forefinger a little bit. It moved in slow motion, like a snail's neck, but  
at least it moved. He bent his arm at the elbow guided by vision alone and tried to peel the duvet off: it was an awful thing, not feeling the limb  
he was moving. The index finger curled feebly, hooking into the edge of the cover and slipping off it. He repeated his efforts twice, but he didn't  
have enough strength or control to pick up a feather.

"_Oh come on…_"

He had been drugged, evidently, but to lose control over his body like this… was humiliating. Jaw set, he willed his feet to move. He couldn't feel  
them, but saw slight movement in the duvet where he approximated his feet to be. A royal purple, silken duvet. On a king-sized, Western-style  
four-poster bed.

"_Oh no._" He grimaced. Of all the places to go, he'd gone here… "_Oh hell no…_"

Driven by sheer bullheadedness he inched the numb lead-poles that were his legs to the side. They bent at the knee as they went over the edge  
of the bed, his bare feet landing on slick, cool stone.

"_Okay, time to get up. I can do it._" He drew in breath, and twisted around. Facedown in the pillow, he swore a passionate length about demons  
in general and tengus in particular. Burning fangs in his shoulders, aching boils in the bones inside them. Shiro's breath wheezed out between  
clenched teeth. "_Atta boy, you dumb shit. Up…_" He dragged his wobbly legs into position, gradually lifting his torso from the bed. The back seemed  
to be one of few things in his body that still worked. He staggered a bit, his foggy brain telling him that the room tilted while his eyes, though  
myopic, were quite sure it didn't. "_Whoa. Whatever they gave me, I'm not having it again. Ever._"

Getting his glasses was another lengthy process. He had gained control over three fingers now – thumb, index and middle finger – but was still too  
weak to lift anything heavier than a toothpick.

Shiro clumsily jammed the glasses between his useless hands, lifted them as high as he could for the shoulders, and craned his neck down. He bit  
around one sidepiece and opened it, then the other; blazing fireworks shot through the muscles connecting neck to shoulders. Holding his breath,  
he forced hands and head together and fit the glasses onto his nose.

Oh yes. Any lingering doubts of whose bedroom this was vanished at the sight of pink and polka-dotted ribbons tying drapes of creamy white silk  
to the bed-posters. It was a bedroom like something out of a porno. A Renaissance era porno featuring Marie Antoinette and every royalty in Europe.

"_Who puts a mirror like that in a bedroom?_" Shiro thought at the wall opposite the bed, which was one huge mirror in a gilded frame of swirling  
leaves and frilly carvings.

The floor was chequered black-and-white, made with the finest Rajasthani marble, and every white tile was encircled with mosaic handcrafted by  
the very descendants of the artisans who built Taj Mahal. A giant gold chandelier hung in the ceiling, in such a position that it showcased the most  
unique property of said mosaic: it is semi-translucent.

"_Well, I broke into the right office. He's disgustingly ri-_" And that's when Shiro caught his reflection in the mirror. His eyes widened, muscles  
surrounding them twitching erratically. "_I'm… I'm… WHAT THE HELL AM I WEARING!_"

Sleeping in that clown's bed was enough to make him want to wash in lye, but sleeping in _his freaking clothes_…! Shiro looked around desperately  
for something to replace the cherry blossom-pink, garishly patterned yukata with, but that only made him reel groggily into a bed poster. His  
clothes weren't there – naturally, they had been in quite a sorry state. The only other alternative was the gaudy duvet, which wouldn't be that  
much of an improvement, really.

"Oh my, our patient's awake!" The lone door at the end of the room opened, revealing a short, blonde woman in a kimono with intricate flower  
motifs. She smiled at him, and it was a smile so motherly he got a lump in his throat. "Don't worry, young man. We have looked after you as best  
we could, and your body is handling the rest just fine. Sweetie, will you go tell Sir Pheles the boy is awake?" she said to a girl who must be her  
daughter. She nodded and disappeared.

"How are you feeling, young man?" she asked, padding over to him with small steps and a gentle smile. She was the kind of woman who ages like  
the immortality peaches in the Jade Emperor's garden, growing more sweet and tender as time passes. "Some feel nauseous from morphine. Giving  
you that wasn't my idea, but the exorcist Doctor didn't want to leave you in pain."

"No, I feel fine", he slurred. "'cept I can't move."

"Nor should you", she admonished, guiding him back in bed with calloused worker's hands. "We couldn't get a sensible word out of you when you  
came in yesternight, so I treated your wounds in the most general way. What kind of demon were you attacked by?"

"A tengu. Ma'am", he added. He wasn't sure why. This woman was so small, so gentle, and yet there was something in her that inspired respect.

"Oh, silly me! I'm Moriyama Mayu: I own the gardens and the shop that supply exorcists. Sayuri is my daughter. And you are Fujimoto Shiro", she  
smiled. "You were lucky after all: tengu wounds need no more treatment than fresh bandages and a little herb salves to speed up the healing. Now,  
let's pull this down a bit so we don't ruin Sir Pheles' clothes…"

"_So it is his…_" Shiro had nurtured some sliver of hope that it might be Moriyama-san's, though he admitted she was far too short for it.

The wounds had been stitched, but had reopened with his efforts to get out of the bed he now sat on. Moriyama-san decided that it wasn't all that  
bad, and wrapped him into new bandages with a strong tang of herbs. It was nice. Quite the opposite of his experience yesterday: being treated  
in agonizing ways by a beautiful girl, and now being treated gently by a woman who could have been his moth- Shiro cut his foggy thoughts short  
there. Morphine, huh? Made both body and mind treacherous.

Sayuri returned, and Shiro wished his pink yukata would go up in flames. Never mind that he was still in it, he'd rather be dead than wearing that  
stupid thing in front of a hot girl. Sayuri was probably a year or two younger than he was, but a full-grown woman in every aspect.

"How lovely to see you again, Mayu-chan. I can't thank you enough for coming over at such inconvenient hours~" Faust made a grand entree  
with billowing cape, swept his top hat off and brought Moriyama-san's hand to touch his lips.

"It's always a pleasure, Sir Pheles", she smiled. "But you have to admit I'm a bit old to be called -chan."

"Good memories never age~ We have known each other a little too long for you to call me by surname, haven't we? Please, indulge me on this one~"

"You truly haven't aged a day, Mephisto-sama", Moriyama-san chuckled merrily. "Not in body and not in mind, you rascal."

"Mom…" Sayuri said reproachfully, glowering at her.

"Sweetie, widows past forty are grateful for what attention they can get. And Mephisto-sama knows how to treat a lady." She glanced knowingly at  
him, mirth curling at the corners of her eyes. "I'm sure many ladies know that, too."

"In a garden full of flowers fair, whoever does not cherish them all is unworthy of such treasure~" he declaimed, a mischievous smirk adorning  
his features.

Sayuri huffed and folded her arms, regarding his theatrics with disapproval.

"Oh, that reminds me: you are welcome down to visit my garden anytime. I have new fresh herbs for that tea you like. Now, I think we will be  
retiring for the night." Moriyama-san bowed gracefully. "You should get some sleep as well. You work yourself too hard."

This time, Shiro huffed.

"No rest for the wicked, is what they say~ Träum was Schönes, Mayu-san, Sayuri-chan."

Moriyama-san fitted a magic key in the lock, and disappeared with a good night-wish.

"You _are _a pervert", Shiro concluded, knowing in the back of his head that he wouldn't be saying this if he'd been, well, sober.

"It's a mutually beneficial exchange, Shiro-kun. Women want to be adored, and I adore women." He snapped his fingers, and a chair came gliding  
to him.

"You're flirting with a mother right in front of her daughter." He tried to make a reproachful gesture, but his muscles failed. "That's like breaking  
the laws of gravity."

"Quite the hypocrite you are, given how you looked at Sayuri-chan. Give it a few more years and I will flirt with both mother and daughter~" He  
folded himself into the chair, leaving his hat on the bedside table. "I should have picked a purple one for you: pink doesn't go with your hair. So!"  
He clapped his hands together with a bright grin. "What honour do I owe to having you stumble into my office in the midst of night, bleeding and  
delirious?" he inquired before Shiro could give him a piece of his mind about pink and purple.

"I was taking a night walk, I went into the forest, and I got attacked by a tengu", he summarized, seizing the words in flight. "And Midori-chan  
was there: bathing right were a ward was torn. So that's both our half-demons at the scene of the crime, but neither caught red-handed." He wished  
he could have a smoke, but suspected he would drop it in his lap. Or light it in the wrong end. "They don't seem to have any motive, but I don't  
know much about Midori-chan."

"Sakura Midori~" Faust's voice curled around the name as if it were a caramel. "I remember her name on the applicants' list. An exorcist named  
Yana Megumi was sent to dispose of her seven years ago." A serene expression, that was in no way appropriate for what he'd said, settled on his  
face. "She was demoted for insubordination and stripped of her privilege to teach at the academy. But she kept the child, and turned a feral orphan  
into that truly charming young lady who may or may not be involved in this troublesome business." He tilted his head, resting his cheek on the  
back of his hand while his fingers played leisurely with the gilded chain to his exorcist badge. "Megumi-san was killed in line of duty last year. If  
Midori-chan blames me for that, she might find reason for something like this~" Shiro didn't know why Faust was smiling, but decided that being  
annoyed by it would only improve his mood. His outlooks in a battle of wits weren't that impressive at the moment anyway.

"If she knows you wanted to kill her and killed her mom that would be a pretty strong motivation, yeah. Is there anything else I should know about  
the people here?"

Faust was gloriously unperturbed by the hint.

"The Futotsuki are notorious troublemakers. Very kind-hearted people, and very unreliable for support in the field – poor Nao-san used to be quite  
a beauty, you know~" Even then, he didn't stop smiling. "Not to mention how difficult it is to hold personnel meetings when one teacher wants to  
tear the guts out of another… Then there is the Todo family, which is in constant rivalry with the Yaonaru family, in everything: ancestry, money,  
number of exorcists and their ranks, number of people serving in Vatican headquarters – it wouldn't surprise me if they kept count of how many  
demons each family has slain. To be sure, saving the academy from a demon invasion would be a grand feather in the cap for whichever family  
rescues us all~"

Shiro's heart sank deeper in his chest with each word. He'd thought this would be easy, like breaking in, grabbing what you wanted and get out.  
Not so. Everybody had motives if you looked hard enough – and Faust was well aware of that.

"I have a few other questions", Shiro said. "When did this all start?"

"This semester, the day your class arrived. That is why lessons were postponed one week for you."

"So it should be one of the other six…" Shiro pushed his glasses further up his nose, trying to at least look like he could think. "Unless it's a family  
thing. There must be other Yaonarus in the senior classes, right? And there is more than one Futotsuki. Family members could be working together…"  
He groaned. "And Ryuuji-san has an older brother here." He glanced at Faust. "You can tell where and when the wards are destroyed, right? If you  
could keep tabs on that, we might see patterns. It might even be possible for me to camp out at some hotspot and catch whoever-it-is."

"Even now you cause me extra paper work", he sighed, a dejected look on his face. "I shall start taking notes, then." With a poof, a burgundy reservoir  
pen appeared between his fingers.

"I have one more question. No, two. Can I get a new uniform?"

"I've ordered one for you." A pointed look. "But you're paying for it."

"What? Isn't there some insurance to cover that?"

"All students pay for their uniforms, you are no exception."

"And do all students almost get killed while doing work for their principal?" he frowned.

That. That look of profound disinterest in any argument Shiro could come up with was as exquisite as Fuji's look of cluelessness. Masterful. Pity  
he was at the receiving end of it.

"Dying is a valid excuse for not paying: almost dying is not."

"But you're rich!"

"What has that got to do with anything?"

Shiro had a good mind to smack the clown in the face, but with his system full of morphine he was more likely to end up sprawling on the floor.

"Your other question~?" Faust inquired, smiling as if he'd read Shiro's mind.

"Yeah." He moved his arms as demonstratively as he could. "I'm assuming this is yours?"

"It is. Finest Chinese silk, dyed with bingata techniques by the Shiroma family~"*

"_Much more affordable than a school uniform, no doubt…_" Shiro thought. "Alright, but why on earth would you buy a women's yukata?"

"Why, they come in nicer colours~"

-

**A/N: ****I was troubled myself with the lack of canon characters. But what is one to do with a time gap of three decades...? Enter: the  
Moriyamas! I'm imagining Shiemi's mother was quite the looker when she was young, and probably granny-Moriyama too. Though  
they hide it, they do have curves. ;)**

*** Bingata is an intricate technique for dyeing fabric, developed in the Ryukyu kingdom in Okinawa around 14th century. Highly prized  
in the courts. WWII put an end to the production, until it was revived again by the Shiroma family. Today I think only three families  
remain that make these things.**


	17. 17: Playing games

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Shiro was not good at staying bedridden. Moriyama-san and Faust had at some point decided that it would be good for him to rest at least until  
his new uniform had arrived, which would be approximately one more day. One agonizingly long day.

It was fine as long as he could sleep, even if it was the empty, dreamless sleep of morphine: but once the drug was out of his system, his patience  
was out with it. And he really, really wanted a cigarette.

Shiro slunk out of the bedroom. The principal was at work, all the time in the world to figure out where he'd stashed the smokes…

Shiro had visited many houses and apartments, for reasons best left untold. They all looked more or less the same: bedroom, kitchen and bathroom  
in various degrees of tidiness or neglect. Larger places might have a dining room or common room. Really fancy places could have – what did they  
call 'em? – parlors and rooms-that-didn't-really-have-any-purpose-save-for-decorating. _No _house he'd been to had had a private library.

Heavy bookshelves dressed the walls and paraded back-to-back in rows in the room, every shelf so packed with magazines it virtually rested its  
sunken middle on top of the magazines on the shelf below! Shiro padded along the aisle, tatami mats rustling softly under his feet, and gawked  
left and right at the largest collection of books he'd ever seen. For a collection it was. Shonen Magazine, Shonen Jump, Shonen Sunday, Shonen  
Sunday Deluxe, Bokura Magazine, Shonen Champion, Shukan Manga Action – every single volume of all the leading manga magazi- What?  
Magaretto? Shoujo Club…? Shiro adjusted his glasses and checked the cover backs again. Ribon. Nakayoshi. Shoujo Comic, Shoujo Friend,  
Princess… _Girls' _magazines.

"_And women's yukatas..._"

Shiro had a merry time imagining what other quirks True Cross Academy's principal might be hiding, and made a mental note to exploit them  
all ruthlessly unless he found his cigarettes within the next ten minutes.

The far end of the room was dominated by double shoji doors patterned with cranes and pines. Clenching his teeth against the pain, he slid one  
of them open. _More_ shelves, these containing manga volumes. And figurines. Astro Boy and Doraemon, Kamen Rider, Cutie Honey, Princess Knight,  
Lupin III, Black Jack – this wasn't a library, it was a manga museum. And further in, the books were replaced by videotapes: complete collections  
of Kagaku Ninjatai Gatchaman, Majokko Megu-chan…

"_All this crap and he can't pay for one single school uniform_", Shiro fumed, trudging ahead between the neat rows_._

Shiro did find the packet eventually, along with his keys, lighter, summoning circle and a few crumpled yen notes: all neatly laid out on a table  
next to a bowl of sweets. It was the first room that actually looked like an inhabitable room. Although the furniture consisted of a reading chair,  
a small table, and a hideous, pink table lamp made in the same fashion as Faust's umbrella, at least it wasn't a storage room for collectibles. As  
the other six rooms had been.

Two sad cigarettes were left. Shiro lit one and sucked a gratifying breath, admiring the view of True Cross town through the high window. Nothing  
quite like a cigarette to bring his head around. Some smoke for pleasure, some for impression: Shiro was quite happy to let people think he belonged  
to either category. Sure, he'd taken up the habit for impression's sake. But the thing with addiction is that when your body develops a craving for  
one thing, it takes your mind off another – a bit like children being tricked to think of the brightly coloured stickers instead of the drill at the dentist's.

"_I really should stop thinking of you._" He drew another breath, let the smoke waft slowly upwards. "_You don't deserve to be remembered._" And yet  
loose images continued to surface from time to time. Okaa-san cooking, the smell of her special daikon oden humming promises in every room.  
Otou-san shaving what little beard growth he had in the bathroom mirror, using that fluffy foam Shiro had once swallowed and gone to hospital for.

In retrospect it was like watching a film of the perfect family, and that pissed him off even more. All that pretence, the fake smiles, the charade…

Shiro drew another breath of smoke, obliterating the bitter taste in his mouth, clouding smells and images he didn't want to remember. So, Faust  
had an unhealthy obsession with manga and anime? And toys. Shiro allowed the chortle to grow into full-blown laughter, remembering the sixth  
room – or was it the fifth? – which had been stacked so full of plushies one could barely walk through it. Demon Prince? Yeah, sorry, one too many  
pink bunny for that. Why would a Prince stoop to running errands for the Vatican anyway? No, Shiro had begun to think that the name Mephistopheles  
was missing from the list of Demon Princes because there was no Prince Mephistopheles. He was likelier to be a nameless, high-ranking demon  
with a knack for messing with peoples' heads. Shiro had read about the Princes and what they were capable of: earthquakes, tsunamis, plague and  
such. The most impressive thing he'd ever seen Faust do was turning into a dog; not a fearsome hellhound, but the kind that might chew one's  
shoelaces off if you didn't pay attention.

There had been something more than plushies in that room, though. Something Shiro found he just couldn't resist with a whole day of nothing ahead  
of him.

-

Several hours later, the doors slid open with a rattling whack.

"It _stinks_", Faust grumbled, glowering at Shiro with a handkerchief covering his nose. "And why aren't you in bed?"

"It got boring", Shiro replied, surrounded by magazines, empty snack bags and cups of instant ramen. He'd been greatly surprised that such a  
fancy kitchen had nothing but junk food on the shelves. "But you've got a really cool house."

"That smells of cigarette smoke!" He tossed a square of perfectly folded clothes at Shiro, who caught them on reflex. "That's 46 886 yen."

"Yeah, about that…" He put the uniform down and assumed his best business face. "Would you mind if I pay that off on a monthly basis?"

"Yes. I would."

"Look, I have to be able to attend school if I'm going to help you in this. Isn't there any scholarship or something that I can apply for?"

"Scholarships go to prodigies", Faust said dryly, placing his free hand on his hip. "And they aren't granted to students with less than one year left."

Shiro bit his tongue, thinking. He didn't exactly have anyone he could borrow from. Stealing wasn't an option. Selling a kidney wasn't too tempting  
either. Maybe if he didn't eat for a week…

"How about…" He glanced at the cabinet he still had one hand on. Jesus, it was far-fetched… "If I can beat you at this, you pay for my uniform?"

Faust raised an eyebrow at the Midway arcade game, one of many adorning the walls in the plushie-room.

"And if I win, you quit smoking."

What? Shiro gawked. Really? He didn't accept mortgage payment, but he was willing to bet the money in an arcade game challenge? What  
ridiculous kind of reasoning was that?

"Best of three, then." He inserted the coin he'd reused for the past hours with an incredulous grin. He'd never gotten himself out of a pinch so easily.

-

"You're not winning this, you little pest…!" Faust growled, eyes narrowed at the screen.

"You're going down", Shiro grunted, tip of his tongue between his teeth, sweaty palms slipping on the joysticks. "Nobody can win with pink controllers."

"Stop hiding behind that cactus and I'll show you how to win with pink controllers."

"As if you could hit me anyway… Hah! 4-4! Gaining on you!"

"The smoke stinging in my nose is a bit distracting."

"Oi, I've got both shoulders torn off: you have nothing to say."

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger."

"Yeah? Killing you is pretty satisfying, too. Ouch, dammit…"

"I have to agree, it is pretty satisfying~"

Shiro had played Gun Fight in the arcade many times, and he knew he was good. His little pixel-cowboy had shot Faust's dead almost ten times  
during the first round. Then, aided by grave hubris on Shiro's side, Faust had mangled him to a sieve in round two. Now they were past  
underestimating the opponent, and each put everything he had into the game. Shiro tried not to think about the stakes. He didn't know which  
would be worse, giving up the cigarettes or finding some way of raising forty-six grand. He liked having two kidneys.

The timer for the third round ticked down to 0. Shiro's shoulders were about to fall off, but it was worth it. It was worth every clenched muscle  
and drop of sweat to see a grown man – a demon – sulking like a grounded kid.

"Fine. I pay the uniform. But you're _not _smoking in my house."

"Don't worry, I'm out", Shiro smiled sweetly and picked up his prize. "I'll go change into these. Thanks for the game."

It took a while to change. Actually, changing wasn't the main problem, even with his injuries: Shiro wasn't used to the tie. True, he wore one every  
day, but it had the same knot Yasuda had tied for him sometime in the first month of his first year. After much cursing he decided he could just as  
well go without tie.

"Don't know how to do a tie~?" Faust inquired when he came back from changing.

"Couldn't reach up, my shoulders are too stiff", he defended, picking up the cups and snack bags. "I left the yukata on the bed."

Faust merely tapped his pointy ear.

"These aren't just for show, you know. Come over here, I'll show you how it's done."

Shiro glowered at the smiling demon, feeding the trash to the wastebasket panda. Whatever. He did win the uniform.

"I've been gone two days", Shiro spoke while Faust tugged his collar up and slung the tie around his neck. "Haven't Yasuda-san and Fuji-san asked  
for me?"

"They have been informed in very vague phrasing that you were sent to hospital on short notice."

"Huh. Why weren't I? Don't they treat mashou at hospitals here?"

"They do, but none is better than Mayu-chan. She wanted you to stop by and let her have a look in a few days. I shall get one of the older students  
to take you there. Do fetch my tea while you're at it~"

"What am I, your errand boy?"

"No, you're too impudent for that. There." He smoothed the collar down over the tie.

Blame it on lack of smokes, or the way Faust made final adjustments to a tie that was already perfectly adjusted, but Shiro's mind jumped back ten  
years then. His mother had knelt before him, making sure his uniform looked impeccable before she walked him to the school bus stop. She would  
kiss him on the forehead and ruffle his hair, that unruly bird's nest he'd gotten from his father. And then she'd wait until the bus was out of sight,  
until she'd shrunk to a tiny black dot in the distance.

"Hm~? What's with that look?"

"You really should sleep more", was the first thing that came to Shiro's mind. This close up, the bags under the principal's eyes did not look healthy.

"Well, my bed was occupied."

"Oh. Sorry. But…" He'd had that bed for two nights; Faust couldn't possibly have been awake that whole time. "Where did you sleep?"

"In someone else's bed, obviously~" he smirked. "Now, where should I drop you off?" He fished out a metal ring with numerous magical keys.

**A/N:** **And some more Nietzsche. If this had been a douji, I would've drawn Osamu Tezuka's _Faust_ (1950) in some conveniently  
discreet corner. Alas, it is not, and you shall be spared at least part of my nitpicking attention to detail. On the same note, most  
"currency histories" only go back twenty years, so the school uniform is estimated according to prizing and exchange rate of  
contemporary Japan.  
**


	18. 18: Girls

**A/N: This will probably be revised many times more before I'm satisfied with it, but oh well.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

For the first time in his eighteen years of life, Shiro enjoyed studying: that in itself was as amazing as having a space-warping key in his pocket  
and a demon principal to report to. Not to misunderstand: his course books in maths and English and all that still lay in a sad pile on the dorm  
room floor. Mathematics just didn't make sense. Beyond calculating what to pay at the grocery store and in rent, what use did one have for it?  
He wasn't going to construct bridges or spacecraft (though he had thought about that last one when he was a kid) or calculate the locations and  
angles for deep-sea oil drilling.

Exorcism, on the other hand… Exorcism made sense. Demonology, demon ecology, anti-demon pharmacology and sealing were hands-on, applicable  
skills that he could have use for. And since they made sense to him, he didn't think twice – or read twice – as he delved into _Comprehensive  
Demonology for the 20__th__ Century_.

At their first test in anti-demon pharmacology he surprised himself by scoring 98/100. It was one point below Kita, which stung, but it was better  
than any other result he'd scored, ever. It was just insane. Wicked. Awesome. Hah, what would Fuji and Yasuda say?

Shiro checked himself just as he had imagined their faces when he showed them. Fuji and Yasuda wouldn't say anything. They would never know  
he'd tried a real handgun at the shooting range, either, or that his first summon had been a Persian bird-dog demon. They would never know  
anything of what was really taught at True Cross Academy. Suddenly it was as if he'd not only enrolled in cram school, but crossed the border  
into the very Gehenna: his friends being on the other side of a barrier he couldn't cross.

They had been so happy to have him back from the hospital. When they had woken up that morning and he wasn't in his bed, and there was no  
note, all his stuff still there… It was quite funny how little it took for them to turn into mother hens. They also took the time to ensure him that they  
didn't care that he'd contracted a rare STD that caused oozing wounds in the shoulder-area; he was still their friend. They would take turns carrying  
his satchel, even. As long as he wrapped the strap in plastic.

"_'Informed in very vague phrasing.' I'll inform him what I think in very exact phrasing when I give him that stupid tea…_"

Shiro fell off the chair with a yelp when a giant maw of assorted brick-shaped teeth opened before him.

"Thank you, goblin", said Sen in her dreamy voice, and the demon vanished. At the desk next to her, Midori chortled merrily.

"Thank you, Futotsuki-chan, but next time you could just pat his shoulder", Matsuri-sensei smiled. "No day-dreaming, Fujimoto-kun. As I was  
saying, you are going on a three-day training camp starting on Friday in two weeks. I will hand out packing lists today, and you have the day  
before off to prepare."

-

"You almost killed me, Sen-chan!" Shiro exclaimed as they exited the classroom. "What's the deal with that goblin, anyway? I never see you  
using any summoning circle."

"No", she admitted absentmindedly.

"Ne, Sen-chan, Shiro-kun is curious." Midori trotted on the other side of the short girl, looking even more fox-like when a smile shrunk her eyes  
to merry arches. "Show him, or he'll rack his brain 'til it comes a-pouring out of his ears~"

Sen smiled dreamily and unbuttoned her uniform shirt. Shiro didn't know where this was going, but it sure had taken a good course.

"The Futotsuki clan are exorcists", said Sen. "But different from the Vatican exorcists. We bind demons, and fight with them." Her bared chest  
revealed a tattooed seal, just below her sternum. At first glance it was similar to the ones used for summoning, but different upon closer  
inspection: Shiro opted for the _very_close inspection, but Midori seized him by the scruff.

"I am near-sighted, you know." He tapped his glasses with a winning smile. Midori returned the smile, but didn't release him.

"You're a man, Shiro-kun: no matter how closely you inspect a woman, you won't come closer to understanding her."

A dark shadow towered behind her.

"Let him go, filth, or I will make you."

Midori did let go, and turned to placate Agari: the latter shoved her violently into the wall and poised herself between Midori and the other two.

"She meant no harm, Agari-san", said Sen, her big eyes – a reddish maroon, Shiro noted for the first time – expressionless.

"To protect the ignorant and defenceless, and purge this world of evil: that is what exorcists do", Agari responded, a rigid statue of faith, like the  
ones encircling Saint Peter's Square in the Vatican. "To count bastard half-breeds spawned by evil into our ranks is blasphemy of the worst kind."

Midori visibly bristled where she stood, eyes a lethal hue of gold.

"Evil is of the heart, not of blood or breed", she growled, baring sharp fangs. "And in yours there is abundance."

"All demons are liars", Agari replied calmly, withdrawing what looked like a hand-grenade strapped to her thigh under the skirt.

"Now who's the hormonally challenged teenage runt?" Shiro bit in, dodging Agari's guard and stepping in between the two girls. "You're on the  
same side, remember?"

"This is holy water, blessed by God through men of the cloth." Agari rattled the hand-grenade, making a faint splashing noise. "Anything that  
cannot abide the blessing of God is not on our side."

Seeing her finger already in the fuze, Shiro put all his leg muscle into a tackle. He knocked Agari over, but the activated grenade remained on  
the floor where they had been standing.

"_How long's the delay on those?_" Shiro thought, struggling to get up and kick the device away. Agari locked her arms around him, immersing his  
face in her breasts and killing his shoulders. Just where he wanted to be, just when he didn't want to be there: if Shiro had been even slightly  
inclined towards the spiritual, he might have considered the irony a sign.

The grenade went off with a wet, muffled bang.

"Midori-chan!" he shouted into the warm softness.

Agari finally let go with a grunt. Shiro pushed his glasses straight and breathed a sigh of relief at seeing his classmate unharmed. Sen had summoned  
her giant goblin to shield Midori, and herself she was on all fours on the floor, her uniform shirt employed to cover the grenade. Too bad she hadn't  
gotten any water on her, that bra looked like it would be see-through if it got soaked…

"Midori, did you get anything on you?" All distanced dreaminess gone from her voice, Sen scrambled up to inspect her friend. Some water had  
splashed onto her legs and feet, leaving eczema-like rashes that sizzled and darkened by the minute.

Sen turned her eyes on Agari with a look that made Shiro vow by all things holy never to cross the Futotsuki clan.

"Goblin." The demon shuffled into position for leaping, barbed tongue lolling out. "Make her-"

"Sen-chan, hold it! Think!" Shiro had no idea what he was doing. "We haven't done anything, right? Only Agari-san. Don't do anything rash. She'll  
get what's coming to her, even more so if we look like saints."

-

They gave a full account of what had transpired to Matsuri-sensei. Her face was very grave when she cleaned Midori's wounds – a horrible process  
to watch. According to Matsuri-sensei, holy water affected demons the way sulphuric acid affected humans, and unless all of it was removed it would  
continue to dissolve tissue. Midori didn't whimper or cry at the digging of sharp steel: she had one hand on Sen's shoulder, ensuring the silent girl  
that the flesh would grow back and she would be fine. Once the darkened tissue was cut away it… melted. And burnt. What was left was a kind of  
black, repulsive ooze that reminded Shiro of the Naberius he'd been attacked by. Matsuri-sensei got Sen a towel, and thanked both her and Shiro  
for doing a great job. Lastly, she marched a rigid, silent Agari off for punishment. Midori was back in her good mood virtually moments after they  
had left the classroom.

"Oh, were I a fly, that I could buzz away and spy that crispy twist of fate~" she sang, ears twitching. "You didn't hear, no? Sweet Matsuri-sensei  
says it's a grave offence, yes, a case that has to be brought all the way to highest high. Up the principal's office, m-hm~"

A blissful smile settled on Sen's lips. Shiro chortled and lit a celebratory smoke.

"I hope she chucks a grenade at him~" he grinned, blowing a thin cloud into the air.

"Shiro-kun, that stinks", Midori frowned, her eyebrows knitting in an adorable grimace. "You humans have noses only for decoration, methinks at  
times."

"Sorry." He wet his fingers and snuffed it. "Say, Midori-chan: do all demons talk like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like… singing? As if you're always thinking of some good joke? Or making fun of things?"

Midori flashed a coy smile.

"Is because we have humour, yes? Is because we see the potential in things were you have long forgotten to see. And humans are very funny." She  
had a laughter like light rain on laburnum, and she looked positively dazzling when she laughed. "Funniest of all, you don't know how funny you are!  
Is sweet, too. Like kittens chasing their tails. I used to watch humans all day long. They came to the forest to dine, to play, to love – to die." Her  
yellow eyes grew deep with wistfulness. "Strange creatures you are, who do such a thing~ One day came a woman in black robes, smelling of steel  
and blood. Bad smell. She did not come to dine or play or love – or die, though death came with her. I did not like being where she was, but she  
moved all around the forest. She was like itchy fleas in my mind. So I tell her to leave. Not like this." Midori patted her throat. "I did not speak then.  
I showed her to go away. I did not understand that it was me she was there to kill – neither did she. She was there to kill a demon, not a child.  
Instead she gave me food. She gave me clothes, and a language to speak and understand." Midori smiled sweetly. "I didn't know my parents.  
She was my mother and father. I want to become an exorcist to do for others what she did for me."

Shiro's lips smiled. He was quite sure they were doing it for him, and that no conscious effort, his or anyone else's, could make them stop. There  
was no way Midori could be plotting against Faust.

"What of you, Shiro-kun? Why are you here?"

Those golden eyes, shining interest and friendliness on him: it was like two suns that went straight through the skin and warmed the inside. He  
almost blurt out that he was there because he was fated to meet her, but luckily held his tongue. It's true that men have two heads, and at least  
some of the time Shiro knew which did the better thinking.

"Well, my reason isn't as nice as yours." He scratched the back of his head sheepishly, using the extra seconds to come up with a story. "I was a  
stupid kid, you know. Real stupid. There was a haunted house in the area I lived, and the kids would dare one another to go in. And you know,  
everybody knew that those who said they'd been in there were lying. Everybody lied about it – said they'd gone in there at night and heard or seen  
things and then come out. Everybody knew that except little naïve Fujimoto Shiro. So I actually _went in there_, and it turns out to be a goblin nest.  
Luckily I was small – obviously, you know, that's why I couldn't fit enough sense in my head to understand what was going on – so I could crawl  
down and hide under the floorboards till the goblins had settled down." He threw his hands out. "Afterwards I told the other kids where I had been  
and what I'd seen, and they all started describing what they had seen. Only then did I realise that all their stories were made up and I was the only  
one who'd actually been there. And I could state that till I ran out of air, but they would keep saying they had gone in too. So yeah… Once you are  
able to see spirits there's no going back. When I learnt there was a school for exorcists where they acknowledged that these things exist, well… It  
would be nice to be around people who believed me for a change." He pulled an excusing smile. "Not such an amazing story, eh?"

"I liked it", Sen smiled, eyes glazed over. "Your childhood was very different from mine and hers. It's like hearing a fairytale."

"To fairytale creatures a human story is very exotic", Midori added. "I enjoyed hearing it."

"_I'm in heaven, surrounded by beautiful girls smiling at me~_" Shiro fumbled with facial expressions, trying to appear cool and unaffected. "I think  
it's good to have someone like Pheles as principal. This kind of thing, discrimination against hanyou and such, won't have a chance to grow with a  
demon supervising it all."

"Is not good", Midori stated, a wrinkle settling between her eyebrows. "Sir Pheles is like itching in the mind, and flies in the ears, and thorns in the  
feet. I have met him", she confided, more serious than Shiro had ever seen her. "I would not say things of somebody I haven't met. He looks like  
a man and behaves like a man, but the more human they look the less human they are. Demons like him should not live among people."

"They do when they are bound", Sen chimed serenely. "Sir Pheles has been bound for centuries, serving the Holy Fathers."

"I trust a demon who is bound, but not a demon who bound himself", Midori responded. "Nobody is willing to be slave, and whoever says otherwise  
lies. A demon who can fool the Pope is a good liar, and a bad thing to have around."


	19. 19: Misjudgement

**A/N: ...this will need plenty of revising, too. (Why am I publishing this...?) Essentially, it's like emptying the desk to make room for  
new creations. I have to get rid of the material I have to start writing new chapters.**

**As usual, imagine the breaks between scenes... ;_;**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Hey, Shiro-san…" Yasuda waved a hand in front of his face. "You're completely out of it, man. This cram school crap's draining you, and your  
grades aren't improving – are getting _worse_. It's not working. Why don't you quit and focus on regular school?"

"Okaa-san, are you alive?" She pulled a crooked grin. "When did my grades ever bother you?"

"It's our _last year_. These are our _final grades_, and if they look crap you'll be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life."

"Look, I've got it covered, don't worry." He rubbed his eyes. Suspiciousness was bad for sleep.

Faust had left out his own name from _Comprehensive Demonology_; who knew what else had been omitted? And the false wards… Shiro's gnawing  
doubts had effectively quadrupled his study load by adding the entire literature Hoku-sensei had had in her time. So far it was paying off in  
headaches only. And, he had to admit, Faust had done the world a great favour with that compilation.

"_I wonder what happened to Agari…_"

Shiro had no idea how such conflicts were settled. Would they elicit an apology from her and be done with that, or what? Would there be monetary  
compensation? Would she be allowed to come with them to camp? Or would she be kicked out? What she had done was attempted murder, more  
or less.

-

Shiro was so distracted by his thoughts that he almost walked into Yasuda when he left the classroom. Fuji was there too, the two of them ganging  
up on him with determined faces.

"Look, you've been studying way too hard with no results. Ergo, you need a break."

"So we are taking you", Fuji produced a fan of three tickets from his pocket, "to True Cross Holiday Resort. Over the weekend. Beaches, hot pools,  
arcades, buffets, and no school books."

"And _girls_."

Shiro's eyes hovered towards the tickets like flies unto flame. Gods knew he could use a break, but…

"I wish you'd told me earlier. Sorry guys, but I can't. This weekend's full."

"Oh come on! Nobody studies on weekends except for exams, and we had that batch last week!"

"It's not studies, it's…" What could explain being gone three days? Shit, if only he'd had relatives to visit… if only he hadn't been so tired… "I have  
pre-existing engagements."

"Oh, _big _words! Important stuff, huh? So important you can't tell your friends about it?"

"What's that tone?" Shiro pressed grimly, eyes narrowing.

"That tone? _That tone _is for two weeks of you not giving _shit_ about anything 'cept that _stupid_ cram school you can't even handle! We're trying to  
help you here and what do you do? Huh? You don't give a shit! And I'm sick of that! You think you can treat other people like dirt, you cocky little  
bitch?"

"Yasuda-san, calm down!" Fuji urged, barely recognizing his friend. "Someone else can have the third ticket, it's not-"

"And when did you get a voice? Huh? You're a spineless maggot sucking up to that self-centred bastard! You'd eat a cockroach if he told you to,  
you fucking waste of space! Do you have any respect for yourself? Do you even have a will of your own or are you just a nodding puppet?"

"The hell's wrong with you, Yasuda-san?" Shiro growled, shoving the taller guy away from Fuji. "Just because I can't go with you doesn't mean  
I don't want to! Of course I want to! But I _can't _– get that into your overgrown head! You're the one acting like a shit right now and if you-"

Yasuda's large hand caught him by the collar and pushed him up against the wall. This close to his face, Shiro realized he wasn't angry. He was crazy.

"Like a fly pinned on the collector's board!" His eyes bulged, bloodshot, staring maniacally into Shiro's.

"Fuji, get someone! He's nuts!" Shiro kicked for Yasuda's groin. The latter blocked with his free hand, then grabbed Shiro's hair so hard his fingernails  
dug into the scalp. "_That's it, I'm getting the knife out tonight…_" Yasuda let go of his collar, forced him around and bashed his head into the wall. Shiro  
instinctively raised his hands and turned his head, scalp burning with torn-off hair and skin. When he hit the wall the glasses squirmed askew and cut  
into his nose bone. "You asshole…" Stars. Bright, blue-white stars and a hydraulic drill in his head. "You don't hit people with glasses…" Another bash,  
his knees were giving, the stars grew brighter… pink?

"Excuse me~"

In the corner of his eye, a lavender glove appeared on Yasuda's shoulder. Shiro slid against the wall for support when the tugging on his hair  
disappeared. He adjusted his glasses and saw Yasuda, turned to face Faust; a friendly smile, lips closed, graced the features of the latter.

"Ah- I'm sorry, I'm s-sorry, I-ah-I didn't know! Please, y-your highness, let m- let me go I didn't know I swear, I-!"

Faust's smile grew slowly wider, his eyelids lowered pleasantly, his gaze unwavering. Yasuda's pleas ebbed into a low whimpering.

"You didn't know", Faust spoke in bedroom tones, his smile as sweet as honey of belladonna, "whose barriers those were? You didn't recognize  
the power that held them in place?" His hand moved from Yasuda's shoulder to tilt his chin upward. "Is that what you want me to believe~?"

"Please…" his voice fainter than a whisper, violent shivers racking his body.

"For if you did know, and you still entered _my _territory~" Faust's smile stretched into a nightmare. "Then I would have to take that as a _challenge_…"

"No! Ah, I-ah…"

"Shiro-kun?" he said, eyes still on Yasuda.

Shiro swallowed hard a few times, getting a feel of his vocal tract.

"Yes, Sir Pheles?"

"Your friend here is possessed by a demon of rot, mid level. Do you know the fatal verses for them?"

"Your highness! I'll leave, I'll leave this instant, you'll never see me again, have mercy your highness _please_!"

"Mercy?" Shiro's ears curled in on themselves like burnt paper. "You really didn't know whose territory you trespassed on, did you?" The green irises  
moved to Shiro. "Do you know the fatal verses?"

He wanted to look away, oh _god_, he wanted to look away from those eyes. A human hides her cruelty, banishes it to the darkest recesses of her heart:  
a demon relishes it, basks in it, embraces all its perverted forms and flaunts them shamelessly. That cruelty was what exorcists fought with khakkhara  
and Bible. That cruelty danced in Faust's eyes like the very flames of Gehenna. And though he wanted to look away, Shiro met his gaze and held it.

"…somewhere in the gospel of St. John."

"Very good~ I would say his are..." He scrutinized Yasuda's tear-streaked face with disinterest. "17:1-26."

Shiro fumbled for the pocket Bible in his satchel. God, his fingers trembled… He had it, but he could barely hold on to it. How would he turn those  
ridiculously thin pages?

"_Because it has to be done._" Deep breath. "_Okaa-san…_" That familiar spark of defiant anger lit his mind, fuelled him as he thumbed through the pages.  
"_Otou-san…_" There, the gospel of St. John. Firm voice and firm mind, as Goggles-sensei said... "When Jesus had spoken these words, he lifted up his  
eyes to heaven…"

-

"Will he remember any of this?"

Yasuda had collapsed as soon as the dark miasma had been expelled. He was so big, and yet he looked so small and light when Faust slipped him  
down to rest sitting against the wall. No, not Faust. Mephisto. Whatever illusion Shiro had had of humanity in him had been burnt away by those  
green eyes. That was a demon, a powerful one, and no girly yukatas would change that.

"No. The human soul sleeps while the demon is possessing the body."

"Does that go for you too?"

Mephisto's rudimentary eyebrows rose, eyes drooping as always.

"Of course."

"So it's like stealing and holding someone hostage at the same time?"

"Were you a demon, I would have had your head for your insolence", he smiled, ears twitching. "Most of the time the body is stolen, yes, but it  
doesn't have to be so. This body is mine by right. I bought and paid for it as part of the deal I made with its former owner."

"Bad deal for the owner. Is his soul still in there?" Shiro had the strangest impulse to poke and squeeze and see if a possessed body was tangibly  
different from others.

That wasn't really what the impulse was about, of course: it was that little voice without self-preservation that sat securely in the back of his head  
and egged him on to do reckless things. Peril equals temptation in some poorly wired minds.

"Shiro-kun, you would rather not know where his soul is~"

"No, I'd rather not." He took off his glasses to attempt straightening them. Well, ostensibly for that reason. "Thank you for saving my ass. Twice,  
for that matter." He carefully felt and tested every hinge and sidepiece, bending here and there.

"You don't thank a demon, stupid boy", the fuzzy blob of white, purple and pink snorted, arms akimbo from the looks of it.

"Why? Demon or not, fact remains you saved me." Was this actually… ticking him off? Shiro put his glasses back.

"Protected an investment", Mephisto corrected. "It's not in any demon's nature to do anything without gain. Besides, if I let demons parade in and  
out of here as they please, it will soon be said throughout Gehenna that I've gone soft."

"You worry about your reputation in Gehenna?" Shiro allowed a small smirk to slide onto his lips. "I thought that would be pretty ruined already,  
given that you joined the enemy?"

A muscle twitched in Mephisto's left eye.

"Listen carefully, boy, for this is found in none of your school books. There are no laws in Gehenna. The strong subdue the weak, and the weak  
obey the strong if they want to keep their lives. Demon lords fight each other to move up in rank, and ranked highest of all are the princes. We  
don't fight amongst each other, as a rule, because we could lay waste to areas the size of continents if we did. But if word reaches them that  
prince Mephistopheles, the apostate and the exile, is too weak to hold even this small territory…?" Mephisto's gaze felt like the tip of a knife  
against his throat.

"They'd kill you…?" he breathed.

The grave countenance dissolved in hooting laughter.

"What? What's so funny?" Dammit, he could feel his cheeks and ears heating. Mephisto had positively doubled over, clutching his midriff. "I thought  
you were serious! You made it sound like…! You were just lying, you bastard!"

"Ahaha, haaa, not lying, Shiro-kun, no…" he wiped at his eyes with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "No, I could fight them any day, but True Cross  
Town and the academy would be levelled to the ground. For that reason I want to keep my- the other princes imbued with some degree of fear and  
respect." His grin widened again when his eyes found Shiro. "My, you resemble a strawberry lollipop~" Mirth, the kind of which should not be allowed  
on this earth, lit his eyes when he spoke: "Should I interpret this as you being more concerned about _me_ than the prospect of tens of thousands of  
humans dying, and vast expanses of land being blown into oblivion~?"

"Why you…!" He would bash all the teeth out of that flirtatious smirk, consequences be damned, he would strangle that clown with his ridiculous ascot…!

Shiro spent a fair number of minutes in utter humiliation, swinging furiously at the demon who always seemed to be just out of range. The smirk  
and the occasional wink weren't even the worst things: Shiro couldn't determine how Mephisto dodged. He didn't seem to move, and yet he _must  
_have moved; _Shiro _moved. A lot, and to no avail. Flustered, sweating and panting, he glared balefully at the demon.

"You're cute when you're angry, Shiro-pon~"

Shiro felt a twitch in his eyebrow. It had come down to that, huh? Only one thing to do, then…

"Now you are being childish", Mephisto declared, arms crossed and ears pulling downwards disapprovingly.

"Me?" Shiro drew the virgin breath on the smoke and put on the most untroubled, uncomprehending, and infuriating face he could muster. "I'm just  
following suit: you're the one playing tag." He blew smoke in Mephisto's direction, watching his nose crinkle. "Don't worry, I'll take care of Yasuda-san  
when he wakes up. You must have much more important things to do than bickering with school children."

Mephisto's eyebrow quirked up, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth.

"Hmm, yes~ Now that you mention it, I have to write schedules for said school children." He fished out a key ring and fit one into the door of the  
empty classroom. "Auf Wiedersehen, Shiro-pon~"

Shiro drew another breath and blew out a fan of smoke as the door closed. Then he chuckled to himself.

"I do believe that was a tie, Mephisto-san~"

**A/N: ****I really wanted to get Shiro to start thinking of Mephisto as Mephisto. Faust is for when he poses as human, after all...**

**I'm very grateful for feedback, I should say. Anything you think the characters** **wouldn't say/do?** **Anything I've missed that they  
maybe should have done? Heh, it's difficult with all those OCs, but if we're thinking core characters... Does it flow? Is it too much  
description or too little? I was thinking that a rough-around-the-edges-guy like Shiro, the way I imagine he was, wouldn't focus  
so much on detail. The details he would see are the ones that he has hard-wired into himself will be useful to him: lock-types, valuables,  
hiding places, arcade games... Yeah. What do you think? =3**


	20. 20: Whatever it takes

**A/N: ...no, I couldn't let it hang on 19 chapters. I like even numbers.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

So Mephisto really was a Prince. Huh. But he was pretty good at arcade games, too. How did that add up? And that childish sulk when he lost,  
and the hellish look on his face when he asked for the fatal verses: how did that add up…? How was it possible that these two fundamentally different  
sides were-

"Gyaahrhuhrr!"

Their geography teacher did not seem pleased with his answer to the name of the capital of the Republic of Upper Volta, but the rest of the class  
was quite amused. Fuji screwed the capsule back on the water bottle with a huge grin. More than falling asleep in class, more than being ridiculed  
in front of everybody, it was that grin that disturbed Shiro. The change was subtle, but evident; the way you, and only you, will notice if the  
toothbrush cup is half an inch out of place when you reach for it in the morning.

Yasuda hadn't changed much after the possession – naturally, since he couldn't remember it. Fuji had. For a while he'd been… aloof. Yasuda had  
apologized for everything he had done, once they'd told him about it, but that didn't make the words unsaid. Fuji was a sensitive guy. Shiro had  
figured he'd get over it in time and so concentrated on cram school and his own research: he hadn't thought that Fuji "getting over it" would mean  
that Fuji took possessed-Yasuda's words into consideration.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty, we're going to the night market today. You coming?"

"C'mon Yasuda-san, you know what his answer will be. He's too busy." Fuji looked at him as if to challenge him to say otherwise.

"I am too busy", he said sullenly, lighting a cigarette.

"With what?"

"Can't say."

"There's not much you _can _say recently. Like why Yasuda-san was unconscious when I came back and has no memory of anything."

"Oi, we've been through this", Shiro grunted, rubbing the dark circles under his eyes. "And I don't understand it any more than you do. If you  
could just drop it and-"

"You know what? I've half a mind to drop _you_. You've changed, Shiro-san, and you've changed into an asshole. No, wait; on second thought, you  
always were an asshole", Fuji stated. "But not to us. Just tell us what's going on and we can go back to how it was."

"The only bad thing about being an asshole is that you get surrounded by shit", Shiro returned pointedly. "And if you don't start using your ears I  
might be tempted to cut them off. I. Can't. Tell. You."

"Fine." Fuji held up his hands in mock surrender, the infamous look of cluelessness on his face. "You don't need to tell me anything. Ever. I'm just  
an errand boy anyway, not somebody you actually need to pay attention to."

"Cut it out, Fuji-san, you know that's not how it is", Shiro fumed.

"Oh yeah? And when have you ever gotten anything for me? I've brought you cigarettes, booze, magazines, food, everything. And have you ever  
done any of-"

"I got the prefect report that would've had you nailed for the chòu dòufu."

"Right – one thing. One tiny little thing that you did for me, and you-"

Shiro had hit him before he knew what his hand was doing. An uppercut in the middle of a sentence: real foul play. Fuji bit right through his lip,  
blood gushing over his chin and his clothes. He touched his mouth, staring wide-eyed at Shiro. Shiro stared back, trying to comprehend what he  
had just done.

"What the hell did you do that for? We need to get him to the infirmary, that's gonna take stitches!" Yasuda led Fuji off to the cafeteria to get paper  
tissue.

"Are you coming or not?"

"I… I'm sorry. I have to go. I have…" The backs of his two best friends blended into the crowd. "…detention." He looked down at his hand. "_What the  
hell did I do that for…?_" He closed his eyes and ran his hand through his unkempt hair. "_Well, shit…_"

-

Cleaning leaper cages was fair punishment for trying to punch your principal in the face. Shiro could acknowledge that – could have lived with it,  
even – if not for one thing: Agari. Needless to say, when your principal is a demon there is no such thing as fair punishment. Agari usually ignored  
him, casting the occasional glare at his back, and that was (almost) fine. Boring to the point of madness, yes, but detention wasn't designed to be fun.  
But when she started inspecting the parts he had cleaned, like some sort of drill sergeant, making discontent grimaces and pointing out to him where  
he'd missed…

"How long are you gonna be here, anyway?" he asked, gathering up the foul-smelling remains of the demons' lunch. He had been assigned one  
week, and if he was to work with her that whole time he'd suffer an aneurism. Even so, right now an argument would be more welcome than strained  
silence. "Oi, no reason to give me the cold shoulder, you dug the pitfall yourself." With the exception of the shovel gritting against the cell floor, the  
response was still silence. Determined to change that, Shiro added a more insinuating tone: "I hear Pheles quite enjoyed lecturing you, if that's the  
proper word for it…"

"What?"

Agari had a lovely temper. It's what you get when you try to coat fire with ice: pour oil on the flames and they'll explode when the outer layer gives.  
Shiro leaned on his shovel, smiling. He felt better already. He really must be an asshole.

"What's it like to kiss someone with fangs?" he asked sweetly.

Agari's shovel clanked into his level with his head.

"I would rather die than let that creature lay hand on me", she hissed to his face.

Shiro kept blocking and let her decide how things would proceed. He wasn't too impressed by how that turned out. Agari was a great fighter when  
she kept her head: when provoked, she was no better than Shizuku or Kita. Shiro himself wasn't much of a brawler, but he had a knack for keeping  
his head cool under pressure. What he lacked in physical strength he could make up for by analysis and good old dirty tricks.

He had concluded that he would very much like to have Agari on his side: if she weren't, she'd be one hell of a roadblock. People say a lot of things  
about faith – it can move mountains, divert rivers, make chickens hatch from dumplings and whatnot. While most of it is bullshit or analogy, it is  
true that faith can spur a person to do things that defy both human limitations and logic. And Agari was that kind of person.

"Okay, enough."

When Shiro had her movements fairly patterned, he tripped her and held her down, the shaft of his shovel held across her throat. …and there he  
blacked out. With that cold, furious look on her face, breasts heaving with heavy breath, Agari looked like some of the girls in the magazines he  
collected.

"Nghah!"

The main reason boys won't fight girls is not some obscure notion of chivalry, but the fact that boys are more easily distracted. And more easily  
disabled. Agari's kick wasn't a clean hit, thank the gods, but accurate enough to make pain shoot throughout his body and drain the strength from  
it. A second later they had switched places, Shiro pushing upward with all his might to keep Agari from strangling him with the shovel shaft. Though  
she wasn't stronger, her full weight was enough to make his arms tremble. Shiro yanked and shifted the weight backwards, making Agari lose her  
balance and fall forward. She rolled to her feet with delicious grace.

"Let's just get a few things straight, 'kay?" Shiro got to his feet too, wary of every move that she-devil made. "I've got a foul mouth and you've got  
a hot temper. We go together like oil and water, but I'm willing to try and keep my mouth shut if you're willing to be civil with me. I'm not a good  
person, or a devout believer, but I am probably the only one who'll talk to you after that grenade thing. Also, I know nothing happened between  
you and Pheles", he said in more casual tones. "I just said that to get you to talk to me. And because you're hot when you're angry."

"You speak as if your mouth is not under the control of your mind", she snarled, fists curled and ready. So much for trying to make things casual…  
"And you make out my sins to be equal to yours, though you have wronged me twice."

"Alright. I'm responsible for everything I say, and I apologize. Now will you talk to me?"

Agari's glare only darkened.

"Forgiveness is earned, not bargained for."

"Forgiveness is a gift, not a salary", he countered. "And I don't need you to forgive me, I just need you to listen."

"To a lost sheep that bleats derision at its shepherd?"

Think. Agari hadn't grown up an animal in the woods, like Midori: she should be easy to handle, as ramrod straight as her mind appeared to be.  
Shiro sighed, let his guard drop and lowered his eyes to the floor.

"And I thought you'd understand…" he took a gamble and turned his back to her, picked up his shovel and resumed detention work.

"…understand what?"

"_That I'm playing you like a koto.*_" Shiro shovelled leftovers and waste into the wheelbarrow, avoiding looking at her. "Most who come here seem to  
think that Pheles is tame. Like a familiar to the Vatican." Glimpses of the malicious flames in Mephisto's eyes skimmed his retina. "I don't think he is.  
Wouldn't you say it's strange for him to be trusted with educating exorcists, when all other demons have been pumped for information and then  
discarded? The reason he gets so much leash is _classified_", he continued, grating out waste from between the floor tiles with the edge of his shovel.  
"Kita-san knows what it is, but he won't tell anyone who doesn't have a pedigree chart going back five generations." Shiro wouldn't have tried this on  
anybody save for Agari. He knew where she stood concerning demons, and she was a rash nature; if she was part of the conspiracy she might let slip  
to someone she felt shared her views. "Personally I think the whole affair smells rotten. I had a feeling you might have had similar thoughts."

"You don't trust the Vatican's judgement?" she ventured coolly.

"_I don't trust anybody's judgement._" Shiro honestly didn't know what to make of Mephisto. He was a colourful assembly of contradictions, he was  
as childish as he was dangerous, and he was up to something. Regardless of what was façade and what was real, fact remained that there were  
question marks around the principal that made him more suspicious than any of Shiro's classmates. "Demons' greatest talent is deceiving humans  
and taking advantage of our weaknesses", he said aloud. "And the Vatican is run by human minds. They can make mistakes just like we can."

Agari resumed her work slowly. Then she spoke in measured, matter-of-factly tones:

"I don't know what Kita-kun knows. But I know what they say in the Vatican – or whisper, rather. Should I entrust a heathen like you with that?"

"If it's up to me to decide: yeah."

"You take everything to be so simple", she snorted. "As if the world is nothing more than what your eyes show you."

"_You take everything so seriously, as if the world is one big exam that you're afraid of failing._" It was on the tip of his tongue, stroking and clawing  
on his teeth like a cat on heat, and it was with great mental effort he kept himself from saying it. This was not the time for cheekiness and jokes.  
"_Whatever it takes…_"

There are times when people must be what they need to be rather than what they want to be: that was the emergency principle that could override  
any other personal code of ethics Shiro held onto. Whatever it takes to accomplish what has to be done.

"I think you've got me wrong there, Agari-chan. I don't believe any of what my eyes show me. I believe people show what they want you to see,  
and that they rather paint reality with lies than see a truth they don't like." He didn't hide the bitterness in his voice. It had to appear convincing.  
Whatever it takes, even going back to memories that shouldn't exist: whatever it takes, even if that means telling the truth. "I believe you have  
to find the truth for yourself." His lips yanked into a smile that wasn't a smile. "And hold yourself together, no matter what truth does to you."

Silence. Real silence, no scraping of shovels or echo of footfalls.

"In the Vatican, they say Pheles had a contract with the Pope. That shouldn't be possible", Agari added, stabbing hard at a splotch of caked blood  
and intestines. Shiro took the hint and started working again. "It's unthinkable that a Holy Father would seek aid from the devil, but some say it  
happened. Allegedly, when Napoleon's armies were at the Vatican borders, Pope Pius the seventh made a… mistake. In fear and desperation, he lost  
faith and called out for someone to protect the church. The church", she clarified, "meaning both the buildings and the faith. Napoleon intended  
to conquer both. And supposedly, that was when Mephisto Pheles appeared before Pius and offered to do what he asked."

"Wow, I'll be… A demon saving the Vatican. If that's true, I understand why it's classified. It would be the end of the Holy See."

"If it is true, the Holy See has bigger problems", Agari said, her monotonous voice losing some of its austerity. "Nobody knows what Pius promised  
Pheles in return; only that the demon is still here, like a fox waiting beneath a tree for chicks to fall out of the nest."

**A/N: It's a truly lovely thing when reality works in favour of a fic. Napoleon started seizing Vatican lands in 1808, the year I  
calculate they enlisted Mephisto's service. As for saving the Vatican, Napoleon wasn't dethroned until 1814 - but hey, Pius VII  
probably asked Mephisto to be discreet, so as not to announce to the world that not-so-divine powers were at work in Vatican  
affairs.**

*** Old plucked string instrument, a bit like a horizontal harp.**

**Reviews are very appreciated!**


	21. 21: For old times' sake

**A/N: I might have left a few references to other works on demons here.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"_Mephisto, you're Satan himself…_"

Just looking at the guy was torture. Back straight, face straight, impeccable exorcist robes, starched collar and creases in all the right places.  
Glasses polished to the point that you could probably use them for Morse communication with space stations. The kind of guy who ironed his  
underwear. The kind of guy Shiro usually kept his distance from in case it was contagious.

"Todo Saburota, junior first class exorcist. I am assigned to escort you to Mrs. Moriyama for medical check-up."

"_Even his voice…_" Shiro groaned inwardly. "Fujimoto Shiro. Hi. Ready when you are."

Saburota produced a key. Then another one. And another, and then he put them back and started rummaging around in his other pocket.

"Ever thought about getting a key ring?"

"It's unwise to keep all keys in one place: if the key ring got stolen or I lost it, all keys would be gone. Ah, here it is."

The door opened to a bridge into the sky.

"_I have to summon shahrokh and fly here…_"

Cool autumn wind ruffled Shiro's hair as they stepped out on an aqueduct soaring high above the rooftops. The Academy looked like a mountain.  
A mountain with jagged ridges and spiked pinnacles, weaving crevasses and caves hidden by hanging towers. Looking at it, Shiro felt like he was  
flying already.

He had seen the broccoli-formation they were headed for when he climbed into Mephisto's office, but only up close did he see the house nestled  
in the greenery: a big wooden thing with lots of windows and odd outcroppings.

"So – Saburota-senpai, was it? How many demons has your family slain?"

"42 668", he answered with the efficacy of a machine gun. "Do you find something amusing about that?"

"Only that you keep count", Shiro chuckled, keeping his hands in his pockets and dragging his feet in a comfortable gait; walking next to Saburota  
made him somewhat… polarised. "How many o' those are yours?"

"Thirty-nine." He pushed his glasses up, adding: "I rarely get the opportunity since my main task is guard duty in Deep Keep."

"Deep Keep?"

"A high-security vault beneath the Academy, where objects deemed hazardous are stored for safekeeping. My family has been responsible for  
guarding it for almost a hundred years."

"_Explains a lot_", he thought, imagining two Todos standing like statues on either side of a bolted iron door, day after day. "Do you get to see any  
cool stuff down there?"

"If by 'stuff' you mean the objects of safekeeping, I am not allowed to tell you their exact nature."

Shiro pondered for a moment if it would be worth jumping from the aqueduct. The fall would surely kill him much faster than Saburota did.

"So who leads the demon-slaying contest, Todo or Yaonaru?"

"Todo."

"I have a Yaonaru kid in my class. Would you report me if I beat him up?"

"It's my obligation to report any undesired disturbances occurring at True Cross Academy."

"Just joking, man. Just joking…" He patted Saburota on the shoulder with the dejected smile of one who knows he's whipping a dead horse. "_I bet  
you're laughing right now, you clown…_"

Entering the shop was like walking into the cram school hall for the first time. It was like any other shop, and yet it wasn't. Brushes of dried herbs  
hung like bats from the rafters, filling the crammed space with smells of parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, and things that he didn't recognise  
because he'd never eaten them. Urns and baskets loaded with talismans, bones, silver crucifixes, little white cubes of some sort… The golf club  
leaning against a rack of trellis seemed a bit out of place, but it probably had some use.

"Good day, Miss Moriyama. We are here to see Mrs. Moriyama."

"And to pick up tea for a certain purple-haired eccentric", Shiro added with a half smile. "_Oh yes, she digs me_", he thought when she returned the  
smile and went to fetch her mother.

"Fujimoto-kun, that is not an appropriate way to speak of the principal."

"I'll call him whatever I want if he calls me Shiro-pon", he muttered under his breath.

"Beg pardon?"

"Just saying it's an impressive shop. One of these wouldn't be too bad to have." He traced the elaborate portrait of a woman engraved on the grip  
of a beautiful M1911 in the weapon rack.

Ten minutes later, they sat at a small crate-turned-table in the back of the shop. Moriyama-san gingerly cut the stitches and removed them with  
tweezers, all the while giving Sayuri a detailed account of what she was doing. The edges were jagged and reddish, and the flesh was still sore, but  
it would heal completely on its own.

"There. All good and well", she smiled. "Roll your shoulders and move your arms gently every now and then to keep them from going stiff and you  
should be fine. Would you pour our guests some tea out in the shop while I go washing up, sweetie? Oh, and wrap Sir Pheles' tea. Under the counter,  
top right shelf."

"Wow, best tea I ever had", Shiro admitted, setting his cup down. "Your mom makes it herself?"

"Yes. She grows the herbs, I take care of the purchases. Weapons, ammunition, the lot." She gestured towards the cabinets that lined the walls  
from floor to ceiling. "It's more my type of work."

"_My type of girl._" Shiro took another mouthful. "You training to be an exorcist?"

"Mom won't let me", she replied in a tone that made further comments unnecessary. "Dad was an exorcist; she's afraid I'll end up the same way."

"Sweetie, it has nothing to do with your father", Moriyama senior said, stepping into the shop with a soft, worried look on her face. "You're my child.  
If anything happened to you-"

"You're just afraid nobody will take over the garden when you can't work anymore. Those plants are your children more than I am." Sayuri  
disappeared out through the back of the shop, her cold words hanging like toxic dust particles in the air.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that... She has her father's strong spirit – it's more than I can handle, sometimes", Moriyama-san sighed, her kind glow  
fading like a wilting flower. She took the brown paper bag Sayuri had left on the counter and set to wrapping it, slowly, with hands aged beyond  
their years. "She's my most precious flower, that girl. I just couldn't bear to lose her. Maybe one day, when she has a daughter of her own, she will  
understand a mother's worries."

"The best way of breaking a rebellious adolesc-"

Shiro kicked Saburota's shin.

"She's lucky to have a mom like you, Moriyama-san. One day she'll understand that. And she will worry just the same with her sons and daughters."

"Daughters", she corrected, her smile faint but warm. "It's a strange thing that runs in the Moriyama family. We only ever give birth to daughters."  
She selected a deep purple string to tie the parcel with. "Women marry for sustenance, men marry for sons – it's how it's always been. My ancestors  
learnt the secrets of every tree and plant in the forest to sustain themselves, for no man would stay with them." She tied a fancy ribbon with four  
arches before she cut the string. "Ironically, that's also what made our fortune." An apologetic smile turned her eyes down. "I'm getting old, I suppose,  
turning to nostalgia for comfort like this..."

"Good memories never age?" Shiro suggested with the hint of a smirk. "Honestly, I don't get people who look down on nostalgia. If you've got a  
nice life to look back on, well – good for you, right?"

"Technically, it serves no purpo-"

Shiro kicked Saburota's other shin.

"My, you do look a little like him when you say that, Fujimoto-kun", Moriyama-san smiled into her sleeve. "If he was ever as young as you, that is…  
My great-great-grandmother was the first who knew Sir Pheles. He approached her one day in her forest orchard and said he could show her the  
Amahara Gardens." Seeing as neither young man gave the appropriate _oh_ or _ah_ or _really?_, Moriyama-san elaborated: "Amahara Gardens are the  
gardens of God, where all the kinds of flowers and trees He created grow. It's the dream in the heart of every Moriyama. Great-great-grandmother  
Moriyama turned the offer down, however", she said, a streak of amusement playing hide-and-seek in her words. "I would have, too, I suppose.  
But he came back, bringing with him a flower that didn't look like anything on earth, and asked again if she would let him take her to Amahara  
Gardens. She was still scared, poor girl, but seeing that flower…" Moriyama-san nodded her head in the direction of the garden. "It still grows at  
her grave. Sir Pheles took her to Amahara Gardens for the price of twenty years of her life. Twenty years that she would work at the school he was  
building, supplying exorcists with herbs and teaching them how they could be used against demons." She pushed the parcel over to Shiro with the  
softness of good memories warming her features. "It says a lot about Sir Pheles, that deal. Women back then couldn't earn their own money. By  
giving her opportunity to teach her skill and make profit from her produce, he essentially sold more than he was paid for. He will never admit it, but  
there's a human heart behind that smirk."

Shiro had a distinct feeling he was being given pieces from different jigsaw puzzles and asked to fit them together. One could call Mephisto many  
things, but philanthropist certainly wasn't one of them. It's not in a demon's nature to do anything without gain.

"That sounds awfully cheap for a demon. He didn't ask anything more of her than that? Or of her descendants?"

"He did encourage us to develop new compounds of herbs – that tea is one of them." She nodded at the parcel in front of Shiro. "I shouldn't give it  
to him, really: it's what keeps him up and working all day and night. It's an extremely strong blend that boosts metabolism and converts food to  
energy many times faster than usual."

Shiro turned over the parcel in his hands. Sped-up metabolism…?

"So that's why he doesn't get fat from all those sweets?"

Moriyama-san hid her laughter in her sleeve as was proper in older times. Saburota pushed his glasses up without a word.

"Well, he wouldn't have such a craving for sweets if he didn't drink the tea, but I suppose… he would certainly gain a lot of weight if he kept that  
diet without it…"

Shiro had his own quite vivid pictures of what she must be imagining. Moriyama-san trembled with laughter, little glittering diamonds taking  
shape at the corners of her eyes. Strands of brown hair undid themselves from her bun and curled into a spiral at her temple, making her look  
younger and less work-worn.

"You should wear your hair like that more often, Moriyama-san. Ever thought of opening up a confectionary business on the side?" Shiro  
suggested with a crooked smile. "You could make millions with a customer like Sir Pheles."

"No, I haven't. But I might. Thank you, Fujimoto-kun", she said, the warm glow back in her eyes. "I see there's a kind heart behind that smirk, too."

"Ha…? What smirk?"

She got that motherly look that made his heart stop and twist, wishing she _had _been his mother.

"Maybe one day, when you have children, you will understand what I mean."

-

"It's prohibited to smoke in the Academy."

"I wasn't aware there was a rule against _almost _smoking", Shiro returned, an unlit cigarette lolling up and down between his teeth as they walked.

"Fujimoto-kun, I have seen your records, and I believe there is a lot more that hasn't been recorded. Frankly, I don't approve of someone like you  
becoming an exorcist."

"Frankly, I don't give a damn what you think. No, I don't do stuff by the book, but there's stuff you can't learn from books anyway." He gave  
Saburota a sideways look with one eyebrow hoisted. "But that's never occurred to you, has it?"

"You might want to change your tone towards people who outrank you."

"Rank doesn't mean anything where I come from; only how quick you are with a knife." He didn't miss the glance Saburota gave him: tense  
disapproval. Being afraid and hiding it. Very predictable. "And how well you judge your opponent. I think you could be pretty quick with a knife",  
he said casually, smiling crookedly around the cigarette, "but you really suck at judging people. Man, with all your skill and rank you couldn't even  
keep a conversation running without stumbling into every pothole in the way. Some things aren't learnt from books."

Saburota pushed up his glasses without a word, a gesture Shiro had by now attributed to discomfort and insecurity. Indeed, he had made quite  
a sudden switch in tone there. And Saburota had responded just as he'd expected.

Mephisto hadn't given him Todo Saburota for escort on a whim, no more than he'd given him detention with Katsuda Agari through coincidence.  
And whatever he had contracted the Moriyamas for, it sure wasn't charity.

The important thing with haughty bastards is to determine what that haughtiness conceals. Kita was most likely a genuine specimen, with a solid  
belief that his superiority over all other living beings was the natural order of things: that kind of haughty bastard is rare, either because there is  
a god or because nobody wants to reproduce with them. Saburota was the kind of bastard that used haughtiness as a shield to cover up timidity,  
or insecurity, or any other trait that could be called a weakness: more pleasant to deal with than the other kind, but also more unstable. While a  
genuine haughty bastard fills the otherwise empty haughtiness with belief, thereby making it solid, one that knows his pride is all smoke and  
mirrors becomes very volatile should the smoke dissipate and the mirrors crack.

Tossing the tea parcel up and down in his hand, Shiro pondered who was likelier to sabotage the academy – or save it. The genuine bastard or  
the false bastard? The latter, if he was any judge of things. The genuine bastard was already convinced of his excellence, while the false bastard  
had everything to prove to fill that empty pride with something tangible: like saving True Cross Academy from a demon invasion, or from a  
demon principal.

When Shiro returned to his dorm that night, all his belongings were standing in the corridor by the door.

**A/N: I was toying with this visit in my head when I realized that in the entire manga, siblings are homogeneous. Yaozo Shima  
has only sons, Uwabami Hojo has only daughters, Saburota Todo has a brother, Rin and Yukio are brothers (and by extension  
I'll also count Amaimon and Mephisto in), Moriyama has three generations of women but no men… 8X**

**Mind properly blown, I had to explain it somehow. In fact there's already an additional idea putting down roots in the back of my  
head. I shall do as Anthony Crowley for now and glance at it sideways, to avoid scaring the little one off…**


	22. 22: Camp arc 1

**A/N: Here goes the camp arc: three days' camp, three chapters. Mephisto is back in ch 25. ;) While I found writing the camp arc  
rather dull, it does contain plot-driving elements. So for your own understanding of stuff I'm going to post later, I kindly ask you  
to read ch 22-24 even if they aren't masterpieces of wit.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"…and he answers then, 'I wanted to see from where creek flows'!" Midori finished.

"Yep, what ye need is a ward against stupidity", Shizuku chortled. "What did ye' folks teach ye? 'Don't go out at night, it's dangerous'. And what  
do you do?"

"Okay, I'm as stupid as I look. I thought the barriers would keep out anything up to mid level", Shiro puffed with a smile, hands wedged in under  
the straps of the backpack to take the some of the weight off his shoulders. Around them nature put on its most spectacular display of colours,  
chipping away the sky above with foliage of red and gold.

"'round the academy, yeah." Shizuku's khakkhara jingled every time the end hit the ground. "Not so much the town. Reminds me of another  
place where only the exorcists were worth protectin'."

Shizuku glanced back along the line at Kita, who was making a comical effort to look unperturbed while flustered and sweating like a pig. Midori  
was walking next to him now, cheerfully asking if he wanted her to take the pack for a while. Kita's dignity replied with a composed "no", and  
added that it was enough that she carried Sen's already. Sen herself was busy throwing warning glances back at Agari, who looked even more like  
a soldier now that she wore hiking boots and carried a backpack. Last in line was Ryuuji. He fingered a ryuteki absentmindedly, playing a song in  
his head. He'd been quiet during the train ride, which Shiro had attributed to motion sickness, but the silence had stretched throughout the  
teachers' briefing and into the hike up the mountain.

"Was it that bad?" Shiro asked.

"It was worse. People were being torn ta shreds in the streets, and all the Yaonaru exorcists were holding a circle 'round their mansion:  
apparently, a fortified building needs more protection than defenceless people." The khakkhara jingled more aggressively as he stabbed the  
ground with it with every other step. "An' when all was over they'd come out o' their blasted bunker an' start treating the injured and dragging  
off the dead, like bloody spitting the villagers in the face – can't be bothered ta care about their friends and families unless they're dead, then  
it's fine!"

"Oi, watch where you're swinging that." Shiro leaned out of the way of the staff. "Where did you get that thing?"

"It's my dad's. Was my dad's. I had a word with Toshio-sensei, and he said Knights can also fight with khakkhara. So I'll Meister in Knight and  
Aria. Whacking things 'n shouting curses, that's my style", he grinned.

"I like you and your style."

"Hello again~" Midori never said out loud that they were slow, just heavily implied it by bouncing restlessly back and forth beside the marked  
track, her pack-tower swaying dangerously. "I forgot to ask how your shoulders are, Shiro-kun."

"Lots better, thank you. Don't walk next to me, you make me look like a weakling…" Midori's purling laughter eased the burden quite a bit.

"Why not summon your familiar to carry you~?"

"Well, I'm an idiot, you see: I go into the forest at night and I don't use familiars to carry my stuff. I'm also thinking of trying Agari-chan's lunch  
when we take a break, but I'm smart enough to write my last will before I do", he puffed.

"You're cute, Shiro-kun", she giggled. She laughed even more when he almost fell on his face for missing his step on the rocky path. "What I  
came to say, Shizuku-kun: Kita-kun looks like flower on a rainless day. How far until we rest?"

"We should at least reach the upper tree line before we stop. He can take another hour."

"In this tempo?" Shiro grimaced at Shizuku's back as Midori bounced back to break the news to Kita. God, he wanted a smoke. "I don't like  
you anymore."

"Too busy liking Midori-chan?" Shizuku returned, sending a smirk over his shoulder.

"Jealous, Mr. Leaving-your-earthly-desires-behind?"

"Of an idiot like you? Not at all…"

Hakkoda mountains were breathtaking in late autumn, even more so when they had climbed above the trees and could look out over the landscape.  
The shadows of clouds chased each other over the wetlands and the plains, and the forest they'd crossed burnt like wildfire.

"This is a good place for a break", Shizuku declared. "We eat and rest, an' then we walk the last bit."

Midori gave the canned food one distrustful sniff and announced that she would get her own food. She snatched Ryuuji by the hand before he  
even knew what hit him, and the two half-demons disappeared back into the forest.

"Looks like ye've got competition, Shiro-cutie-kun."

Shiro tossed a rock at Shizuku. He blocked with his khakkhara, but Shiro hit him with a second rock, launched from behind his back with a flick  
of his wrist.

"She wants to help him", Sen said between nibbles of an onigiri. "Ryuuji-kun doesn't know how to be what he is."

"Well said", Shiro agreed, puffing gratefully on a cigarette. "Any idea why he's been so quiet today?"

"Might've been afraid o' getting rocks thrown at 'im. Nah, I haven't got a clue. Maybe he's feeling some nerves? First time in the field and all.  
'e doesn't look too accustomed to outdoor life."

"You probably won't figure it out on your own, so I will tell you right away: it's a test." Kita, now less flustered, didn't even look at them when  
he spoke. "Pages are taken on this kind of excursion under the pretext that it's a training camp, while in reality this is our Esquire exam."

"How do you know?" Shiro said, shooting Shizuku a warning glance.

"My older brother told me before we went. The reason I'm telling _you_ is that exams are taken collectively. We all need to perform well, and I  
can't let you run around clueless and ruin my exam."

"Why, thank you graciously, Yaonaru-sama." Shizuku's voice dripped with venom. "For a moment ye had me thinkin' ye told us out of the  
kindness of ye' heart; thank you for reminding me ye don't have one."

"As if that kind of lame insult is even worth responding to."

Shiro captured Agari's eyes and nodded discreetly. She lowered her chopsticks and lunch box slowly, ready to step in.

"Ye shouldn't be allowed to take the exam, you cocky little prick! The one and only goal for an exorcist is ta protect people, and yer family's  
shown pretty damn well yer not interested in that!"

"My family is tasked with things common exorcists can't be trusted with", Kita retorted, the mention of family honour tinting the tips of his ears  
red. "Things a road-dust monk like you could never do. Oh, now you're going to attack me, is that it? Like some caveman who-"

Before Shiro had a chance to grab Shizuku, the huge goblin landed heavily between the two.

"Don't fight", Sen said serenely, still nibbling the same onigiri. "Understanding is the key. If we all understand each other, we can live peacefully  
together." The goblin turned on Shizuku. "Shizuku-kun, why are you angry at Kita-kun?"

"Do as she says or her familiar might eat you", Shiro advised with a grin, seeing how the goblin showed the agitation Sen's features lacked.

"His family protected their estate instead of the people when their village was attacked by demons", Shizuku grumbled. "My sisters and I were  
the only other exorcists there, an' we had to fight them off without _any _help from the _dozen _Yaonarus that lived there."

"Kita-kun, why are you angry at Shizuku-kun?" The great goblin turned around to stare at the lanky boy.

"He makes accusations without knowing the full picture", Kita said, assuming an air of calm superiority. "My family's duties differ from other  
exorcists'. The attack was deemed severe enough to endanger a certain artefact in our keeping, and we prioritized the protection of that over  
the protection of the village."

"Thank you, goblin." The demon disappeared, leaving Sen with a small, distant smile. "Now, can you two be at peace?"

"I can understand him", Shizuku said, his stance neutral but his voice tense. "But I don't agree with him. No old piece o' junk is ever worth  
more than a life." He sat down and resumed eating.

"I suppose that will have to do", Kita concluded.

Midori returned a while later with food: namely, the limp body of a deer. Ryuuji trailed behind her, white as a sheet. Shiro would have laughed,  
but felt that more than laughter would come out of his mouth if he did: Midori promptly set to gutting, skinning and cutting up the fresh cadaver,  
and was soon up to her elbows in blood. That alone would have been fine, but her cheerfulness made the scene quite disturbing.

When it became clear that Midori was used to eating her food raw, Shizuku and Kita joined Ryuuji to admire the view from a comfortably far-off  
rock. Shiro thought of going, too, but was held back by Agari and Sen: all teenage boys are competitive in showing off in front of girls, whether  
they like it or not, and all teenage boys would rather puke their guts out than be bested by girls. And yet, he couldn't hold a candle to Sen. She  
summoned her familiar to share the meal with Midori, and while they quite literally stuffed their faces with dripping slabs of meat and elastic white  
fat, Sen watched it all with the expression of one watching kittens lap cream. She was, Shiro decided, more than a little creepy.

Fed and rested, they shouldered their packs and continued up Mount Odake, the highest of the sleeping volcanoes in the Hakkoda range. The  
rancid stench of sulphur and the memory of Midori's smiling face full of blood worked wonders for the lunch in Shiro's stomach. He was quite sure  
he would never feel the urge to eat again.

They set up camp by the water well not far from the summit and drew, with help from Sen, a large warding circle around it. She insisted on  
leaving the well itself outside the circle, however: the creatures that inhabited the mountain needed water, too. The objective was to locate and  
retrieve a seal from somewhere on the summit. In essence, they had half a day to hike up there, two days to find the seal, and half a day to hike  
back down.

"No way it's this easy." Shizuku scratched his head with the khakkhara ornament.

They had decided to take a look around the summit before the sun set, and barely had they walked a few hundred meters along the crater edge  
before Agari spotted a stone tablet inscribed with a seal. It was roughly a foot by a foot large, like a floor tile. It just stood there, upright beside  
the track, like a trail marker.

"It could be booby-trapped", Agari suggested, scrutinizing the area around the tablet without touching it. "Perhaps it's resting on a pressure-  
sensitive trigger of some sort."

"So we get a long stick and knock it over from a distance, in case it explodes?" Shiro asked.

"I doubt they would risk students' lives with explosives. It would destroy the tablet, too."

"I don't smell any explosives", Midori affirmed. "Don't smell anything at all strange. Lend me~?" She borrowed the khakkhara and pushed at the  
tile with the end. It tipped reluctantly from its surrounding support of rocks, but that was the extent of it. Underneath was just black, volcanic gravel.

"There has to be _something _wrong with it", Kita muttered, eyebrows crinkled together.

"Yes. Here." Sen crouched by the tablet and put her finger on the seal. "These symbols inside the circle are wrong. The seal won't work."

"If this one is wrong, most likely there is another, somewhere, that's right." Agari looked out over the valleys, where the shadows of the  
neighbouring mountains had begun yawning wide and stretched out to sleep. "But that will be tomorrow."

It was a clear night, with the raw bite of autumn creeping over the ground. Still, Shiro sat outside his tent. They had all packed warm clothes  
and he wasn't cold, but the hairs were standing up on his arms all the same. Staring dreamily off into the stars was the kind of thing Sen did,  
but he wouldn't deny that this night sky was worth staring at. Hakkoda mountains were miles away from any city or electric light, and the  
sky… the sky…

"_I thought it only looked like this in the movies…_"

The arms of the Milky Way swirled from horizon to horizon, like veils of fine chalk dust on a blackboard. Stars, more than he had imagined  
there could be, shone down coldly on the sleeping earth. The dome stretched wider than a human mind, enveloped the world as if to swallow  
it whole.

One thin, forlorn note rose from the darkness and chased shivers down Shiro's spine. Faint, it faded into the vast sky; then returned with a  
trembling, haunting call that wove barbed silk strings around his heart. Slowly, the world sank into the back of his mind, embedded in the  
sediments of the subconscious, and his body was lost somewhere between earth and eternity. The only reality he was aware of was the infinite  
sky, and the infinite sorrow of the lonely flute.


	23. 23: Camp arc 2

**A/N:** **I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Is not good", Midori announced, sniffing the air as they hiked from camp to summit the next day. "Is going to be snow."

"We'll just have to be quick, then", Shiro said.

Quick was out of the question. They had come almost a third of the way around, finding four more flawed seals, when hordes of hobgoblins came crawling  
up over the edge of the crater. It was like breaking a spider's egg sack: they poured out, scuttling and skipping everywhere. Shiro reacted on pure instinct,  
pulling his weapon of choice. Ando-sensei had allowed him a "dummy gun"* for the trip: a carbondioxide-powered, modified version of the paint guns used  
to mark trees in the forestry business. It didn't have the range or bite of a real gun, but the gelatine capsules filled with holy water wouldn't harm humans  
if he missed. The corners of Shiro's lips curled. As if he would miss.

Agari and Shizuku, both aspiring Knights, fought back-to-back on the path: one with a khakkhara and one with a wooden sword covered with rags soaked  
in holy water. Midori fought with nothing more than her claws, fangs bared and ears quivering. She kicked and slashed hobgoblins in all directions, and she  
was absolutely gorgeous.

"Why are they acting like this?" Kita shouted. He and the other Doctor, Ryuuji, covered behind Sen's goblin. "Hobgoblins aren't aggressive if they aren't  
provoked!"

"Demons are territorial", Sen said, her face blank. Her goblin bellowed and swiped at the attackers, more to frighten than to harm. "They don't mind humans  
much, but half-demons are sometimes seen as threats."

They never stopped coming. Milling like ants, all slobbering tongues and slicing claws, the hobgoblins spewed up from the crater and tore into them faster  
than they could hit or reload.

"Sen, give me one minute." Midori came skidding in behind Sen's goblin, clothes torn and bleeding from one leg. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes  
in concentration.

A hobgoblin the size of Sen's familiar came clawing over the edge, causing rock to crumble and clatter down the crater. Thick drool oozed between the square,  
crushing teeth, yellow eyes darting for the intruders. It rushed straight at Ryuuji and Midori, bawling like a crazed bear.

"Everybody get back!"

They threw themselves down the slope as a massive chunk of rock appeared out of nowhere and smashed down among the hobgoblins, causing a minor  
landslide to drag them all down the crater.

"What happened?" Shiro stared wide-eyed at the gaping hole in the track. "Was that a meteor…?"

"Kitsune illusion magic", Sen said, adjusting her hair ornaments absentmindedly. "Whatever they imagine is real, becomes real as long as they believe in it."

"Ye pulling my leg or somethin'? I didn't see any meteor, just the ground giving all of a sudden."

"Same here", Agari added, a thin line between her eyebrows.

"The illusions don't work on humans of faith", Sen replied, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Still, that was awesome, Midori-chan", Shiro grinned, picking himself up. "Can you imagine anything? Anything at all?"

Midori rose with some effort, wobbly on her feet and looking more tired than she had after the P.E.-class with the dökkàlfr.

"Not big or complicated. Is only half kitsune, after all."

"I guess imagining a clear sky is outta the question, then?" Shizuku asked, looking upwards at the grey clouds. "'cause the snow's coming in now."

* * *

"Shouldn't we turn back?" Ryuuji shouted over the wind.

"We really should turn back!" Shiro agreed, holding the rim of his hood close around his face. "My glasses are caked with snow, I can't see a damn thing!"

"Oi, everybody! It's picking up! We need ta get inta the forest ta get some shelter from the snow!"

"We have to keep going!" Kita's voice was almost lost in the wind.

"Like hell we have to!" Shiro shouted back, lips numb and fingers freezing despite the gloves. "We'll either walk over the edge or be blown over it if we do!  
We have to go back to the forest!"

He only made out "seals" and "exam" from the reply, but knew perfectly well that Kita wouldn't let anything less than the apocalypse stand between him  
and Esquire.

"Come back here, you idiot! Or Midori-chan will imagine a rock over your head!"

The red winter jacket faded further into the flurry of white. The black jacket that was Agari shuffled after him, shouting his name.

"Sees goal but not road", Midori said, rubbing Sen's arms to keep her warm. "Not good, when road is full of holes."

"If it was up to me, he'd see nothing but stars", Shiro grumbled. "If that selfish dumbass wants to get killed over an exam, fine – it's his choice. But I'm  
not gonna freeze to death with him."

Something rumbled ahead of them, low and harsh like a distant motorcycle engine. Stumbling over snow-covered rocks and their own freezing feet, they  
soon made out a black silhouette in the snow.

"Kita-kun got too close to the edge! He's down there!"

"Well, shit." Shizuku wiped at his nose. "Anybody got any rope? Midori-chan, can you imagine one?"

"Is not that strong, Shizuku-kun", she said miserably. "Rock was big."

The wind made howling noises over the rocky terrain, tossing drifts of snow into the air and blowing it into their faces. When she spoke, Agari's voice was  
sharper than the biting cold:

"I'm not leaving anyone behind."

"Agari-chan!"

The black jacket slid over the crater edge and disappeared in the whiteness.

"I will go, too."

"Midori, if you go the hobgoblins will target you", Sen protested. "You will put them in more danger."

"Is inside hobgoblin nest: they will be targets anyhow. With me, they have bigger chance." She patted her gloved hand on Sen's head. "They need my  
nose to come back to you."

"Agari-san doesn't need to come back. Neither does Kita-kun."

Shiro remembered Sen's face when Agari had detonated the grenade. She didn't wear that emotion now, but her voice did.

"Would you rather let Agari-san be in the right~?" Midori cocked her head with a playful look in her eyes. "Trust me. No goodbyes."

"Come back", was all Sen said: her big, maroon eyes said the rest.

"Oi, wait!" Midori took an elegant leap down the crater. "Oh, wonderful, let's all go die together! Now what do we do?"

"I… I'll go down, too."

"What? You can't be serious, Ryuuji-san. What are you gonna do down there? Play a song for them?" Shiro said, some part of his mind slapping him for  
the harshness of it. But it was stupid. So very stupid. They were all putting themselves at risk because one selfish bastard's pride was more important  
than his life?

"It's…" Ryuuji looked at the spot where the other two had gone down. He was terrified, but something even stronger tugged at him. "Agari-chan is down  
there."

"What…?"

Taking advantage of Shiro's confusion, Ryuuji slipped himself over the edge. Shiro stared blankly at Shizuku, still not able to grasp the situation.

"Agari-chan…? Is he suicidal?"

"He's in love", Sen smiled distantly. "And love is like Kita-kun: sees the goal, but not the road full of holes."

* * *

They could trace their footsteps back only a few hundred feet, then everything had been swallowed by the snow.

"Downhill should get us ta the forest!" Shizuku shouted from the lead.

"Or to a fifty feet free fall!" Shiro bellowed back, remembering the almost vertical drops in parts of the slope. "Use the staff to feel your way and we'll follow!"

Time is an elusive concept. Humans measure time in the change around them; in the transformation of a green leaf into a golden one, the slow breathing  
of the oceans that turns high tide into low, and the transfer of sand from the top half of an hourglass to the bottom. But impressions of the outside world  
are treacherous. If the leaf would not wither or move in the wind, if the water was still and the sand did not fall through the glass waist, a human would  
assume that time had stopped.

"_Time is an illusion._" The tengu's words came to Shiro's mind as they stumbled ahead in the never-ending, blinding nothingness of white. The air cut his  
windpipe, made his lungs shrink and shiver in his chest. Snow melted slowly on his face and formed a cold, clammy sheen over his skin; skin that was so  
soaked with sweat under his clothes that he felt like stripping naked and rolling in the snow. Warm and cold, that's all there was and in all the wrong ways.  
No up, no down, no sky or stone or change. It could have been minutes, hours, days: he had no idea. He had no idea if the world was still out there or gone  
in the snowstorm. "_If there is a hell, it doesn't have time. No relief, no end, no-_"

"Oi, there's someone there!"

Shizuku's voice tore him from his thoughts. Walking up to the pilgrim, he peeled soggy snow crystals from his glasses as best he could and peered where he  
was pointing. White. He was about tell Shizuku he was hallucinating when he saw a steady spot of black in the whiteness. It made him dizzy for a moment,  
trying to determine how far away the spot was, and how far up from the ground he couldn't see. The black thing tossed and rippled with the wind, but  
seemed attached to something unmoving in one end. Hair. A person. A…

"Hey, over here! We're over here! Can ye hear me? Oi!"

"Shizuku-san…" Shiro's voice had become frozen and muffled by the snow, like everything else. The person seemed to have heard them, though he couldn't  
make out… couldn't see…

"Izza woman, I think", he slurred, his lips numb. "She might be lost, too. Hey! Lady!"

"Shizuku-sa…!" His voice left him. All the warmth the snowstorm had siphoned from his body seeped back into him, glowing and soothing like the breath of  
angels on his neck. His thoughts followed his voice, swept away by the thundering wind and the beauty before him.

The woman – for a woman it was – came gliding through the snow like a wisp of smoke, a dream cast in flesh and clad in woven starlight. And suddenly  
there was no snow, no cold, nothing in the world that could keep him from her. Shiro plunged ahead, frantic to catch the dream before he woke from it.  
Her graceful arms extended for him, welcomed him, and the sky-blue lips parted as if to call his name.

Shiro yanked backwards. Snow caked in his jacket arms, in his boots, in his face, and he just barely caught his glasses before they were lost forever. A  
stinking cloud of mist shrouded him as the goblin gurgled and snorted. He kicked at it, shouted at it and tried to reach for his gun, but the demon half  
dragged and half carried him away, his backpack clamped between its teeth.

It didn't even let go of him when it started to dig. Shiro twisted and tried to keep as much out of the way as possible when the massive front paws tore  
out snow and earth from the mountain. What had Kohu-sensei said about goblins? Spirits of earth that possessed moles and the like? The goblin had  
cleared a tunnel almost twenty feet deep in no time, curved to make a niche out of reach for the snow. It dumped Shiro there and gave a last snort, as if  
commanding a dog "stay". Then it hobbled back out.

"Yer a blasted idiot, ye know that?" Shizuku said when he and Sen turned the corner in the tunnel. "If anyone's got a death-wish here, it's you. What the  
hell were you thinking? Ye could'a been dead, ye dimwit!"

"I don't know what I was thinking, honestly", Shiro replied, scraping the last of the snow from his hiking socks. "I don't think I was thinking at all. But  
thanks for saving me."

"Summon your familiar", Sen said, her goblin already with her. "We need to keep warm."

Huddled together, they watched the snowflakes drifting into the straight part of the tunnel, and saw the light gradually fade as the entrance snowed over.

"I hope the others find some shelter", Shizuku muttered.

"They do", came Sen's voice in the gloom. "Midori knows the wilderness. She will keep them safe."

"You seem to know each other well", Shiro ventured. The short reply of "yes" reminded him that with Sen, you had to be explicit. "I mean one gets the  
impression that you've known each other before you came to the academy. Have you?"

"We met the first day, like all of you."

"Yeah, speaking of all of us… I get why ye don't like Agari-chan, an' I think none of us sympathizes with 'er after that thing; but what's ye' grudge against  
Kita-san?"

"He's a barbarian", Sen replied in her calm, detached manner. "His family is murderers, like the Todos. They worship blood and war and killing."

"Ye mean them being exorcist families? That's not exactly murder."

"No. It's genocide", she said, her voice never changing. "And like the murdering tyrants of the past, they put the maimed bodies of their victims on display  
as proof of their courage and power. That's what artefacts are, Shizuku-kun: a slain demon's hand or foot or eye, or the weapon that killed them. Symbols  
of death and suffering, worshipped as monuments to mankind's greatness." Sen turned to Shizuku so that her face caught the faint glow of the goblin's  
eyes, empty and eerie like a noh mask. "Say, Shizuku-kun: would you place the great bomb that hit Nagasaki, and killed tens of thousands, on an altar  
and praise it?"

"'course not! But ye can't say that humans and demons are the same. They come ta this world, _our _world, to usurp and destroy. If we didn't fight back  
there'd be no world fer us ta live in."

"Then, should we not also fight the humans who seek to usurp and destroy Assiah?" Sen smiled a faraway smile. "You need to look past appearances,  
man of faith. Good and evil are of the heart, not of blood or breed."

* * *

**A/N: Ahahaaa, fail… Tanuki can't interbreed with humans, I just learnt. X') Well, poor Ryuuji, it turns out he's a figment of my**

**imagination in double sense… I will keep him like this anyway, and blame my lack of insight in Japanese folklore for the error.**

*** Some of you might recognize the origin of the paintball gun here. It's not an actual paintball gun, but let's call it a fictitious ancestor...?**


	24. 24: Camp arc 3

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Having waked up to the stink of wet fur and human sweat in the blocked tunnel, the fresh air and clear sky was a blessing. Nobody felt like  
going back to search for the seal in this condition, but nobody said so. It was the last day of camp, and the last shot at Esquire. Shiro gathered  
a handful of pristine snow and rubbed the sleep from his face.

"So, back up to the crater, huh? The others must've sheltered down there overnight anyway, we might as well go and meet them."

He didn't mention the possibility that the others hadn't made it through the night. He too wanted to believe that Midori's experience would pull  
them through. As they readjusted to their soggy clothes and began hiking uphill, Shiro sent his shahrokh out to scout the crater.

-

Sen was in high spirits. The warmer weather transformed the powder snow into the slightly heavier, moister variety that was perfect for snowballs,  
and her goblin chased them like an overgrown puppy. Whenever they reached a snow mound they brushed the snow from the stone and checked  
for a seal. On their fifth stone, Sen declared that the seal was correctly carved and that it was an unspecified seal for demons of earth.

"Way to go! Let's take this with us an' go look for the others. A hand, Shiro-san?"

They each grabbed a side of the stone tablet.

"Holy shi-!"

Shizuku and Shiro darted away from the stone, where the seal had suddenly flashed bright white and summoned a gigantic naga to appear. Its  
tail curled protectively around the tablet, and the head reared up to glare at them.

"Oh, I hate snakes…" Shizuku groaned, his knuckles whitening around the khakkhara.

"I've only got half a mag left. If I can make it let go of the stone, can one of you scratch the seal?" Shiro held out his switchblade, holding the  
gun in his other hand.

"I can do it." Shizuku let out a long, shakey breath and closed his eyes. "I'll probably shit myself, but I should be able to do it."

"Good. Oi! Hey, you!" He waved his arms wildly to get the naga's attention. "I'm the one you want! Sen, can your goblin make some noise too?  
Oi! You big earthworm!"

When Shizuku had gotten close enough, Shiro took aim at the tail. Four shots. They wouldn't be more than pinpricks on a demon this size, but  
maybe enough for it to let go of the tablet.

One shot. The naga winced and swung its head down to look at the sizzling, smoking tail. Shiro placed the next shot at the base of its skull, to  
draw its attention from the tail. It hissed and turned at him, a long blue tongue flicking in his direction. The third shot missed; the naga's head  
had darted at the source of the annoyance. It couldn't reach him unless it let go with its tail, and with one shot left Shiro began drawing closer,  
hoping to lure it into doing precisely that.

"_Come on, come on… come here you big ugly caterpillar…_" Shiro thought, heart in his throat. The naga followed his movements in ultra-rapid,  
eyeing him as if he were an unusually interesting frog. His arms were miraculously steady, given how his breath shivered. The barrel pointed  
straight between its eyes, one bullet between him and instant death. Slowly, slowly…

The big head riveted back to Shizuku, who had sneaked all the way up to the tail and the tablet. It dove at him, baring one foot-fangs that would  
be lethal even without venom. Shiro shot it in the neck, but it ignored him.

A blur of colours swooped down from the blue sky, hit the naga over the nose and soared back up. The giant snake snapped at it, hissing and  
glaring. Shizuku threw himself headfirst down the slope and rolled all the way to Shiro and Sen.

"You okay?"

"I hate snakes, god I hate snakes…!"

"Just so you know, you look damn cool when you throw yourself down a mountain", Shiro smiled crookedly. The shahrokh landed beside him  
and looked very pleased with herself.

"Ye telling me to throw myself off a cliff more often?" Shizuku grinned back. "Here's ye' knife, by the way. Useless thing."

"Eyo, Sen! Shizuku-kun, Shiro-kun! Fine weather for fighting demons, yes~?"

The other four made their way slowly down the slope from the left, Midori and Ryuuji carrying Kita on a stretcher.

"Shiro-san's missed ye, Midori-chan! Kept callin' yer name in his slee-" Shiro kicked snow in Shizuku's face.

"What?" Clearing the snow away and getting to his feet, he stared at the approaching caravan with raised eyebrows. "How are they doing that  
with Kita-san?"

"Carrying him on a stretcher, there something strange about that?"

"Yeah, if there's no stretcher."

And as soon as Shizuku had said that, Kita fell flat on the ground.

Shiro stared in bewilderment as Ryuuji fished Kita out of the snow, while Sen ran over to Midori, who was clutching her head.

"I was told not to say anything of the stretcher", Agari said in level tones, an adhesive bandage adorning her forehead. It might be the cold, but  
she looked stiffer than usual. "Kitsune magic requires the demon to believe in its own illusion. It doesn't work on humans of faith, and apparently  
a human of faith can make the demon aware of the illusion and thereby dispel it."

"It's a horrible thing to do", Sen said, shooting dark glares at Agari. "Do you know how it feels to have your reality disrupted? Demons heal  
physical damage quickly, but mental damage…"

"_I _didn't say anything", Agari snapped. Then she turned her attention to the naga. "Is that our seal?"

"Pretty much, yeah", Shizuku said. "Sorry 'bout the stretcher, Midori-chan. Won't happen again."

Midori nodded with a weak smile, still holding her head and looking a bit nauseous.

"We've tried to scratch the seal, but the naga protects it", Shiro summarized. "And I'm out of ammo."

"How incompetent are you?" Despite being carried by Ryuuji and having one leg and one wrist fixed with makeshift splints, Kita's haughty tone  
hadn't changed one bit.

"More competent than you, falling-down-a-hole-and-breaking-a-leg-san."

"Your ignorance is stunning", he returned with a smug face. "If I am correct in assuming that it is the complete version of the earth demon seal  
we have seen so far, it's a _seal_. And if you couldn't figure out what it does from the name of it, let me inform you that a seal binds a demon to a  
physical object. It's a leash, or prison. The only thing you will achieve by breaking it is setting the demon free to come after you."

"Okay, so what do you suggest we do, o wise and all-knowing cripple?" Shiro retorted, shooting a furtive glance at Sen. Had she known? She must  
have; she always scored 100% at Futotsuki-sensei's tests on circles and seals. And yet she had said nothing.

"Exorcise it", was his simple answer.

"How?" Agari inquired.

"We have two aspiring Arias", he sniffed, motioning at Shizuku and Sen. "Why don't you ask them?"

Shizuku grudgingly had to admit that he didn't know the fatal verses for nagas, but muttered under his breath that he knew plenty of fatal things  
that Kita could try. Sen replied, with cold that rivalled Agari in her best moments, that even if she did know the verses she wouldn't use them on  
a demon that had been forcefully tied to the execution block for the sake of a school exam.

It was, in a way, an execution. And yes, it was cruel. But sometimes you have to do what has to be done.

"Fine, so I have to lend you my expertise once again", Kita sighed impatiently. "The fatal verses are in the Book of Jeremiah."

"Yeah, an' if I don't know the Jeremiah?" Shizuku replied, arms crossed. "Think ye could do something yeself, for once? It's not like ye have ta be  
able ta walk ta chant a few verses."

"Shizuku-san, I'm not going to be an Aria", Kita said in honey tones. "I haven't memorized all of Jeremiah, nor do I know exactly which verses apply  
to nagas. That's your job."

Shiro and Agari both held back Shizuku, who was hell-bent on "setting" Kita's bones properly.

"Oi, listen up! You too, hothead! I… I think I can do it!" Several eyebrows rose at Shiro's words. They all knew Aria was his last choice, maybe  
coupled with Knight. "Goggles-sensei gave me Jeremiah as punishment homework. I know half of it or so." He bit his tongue, trying not to look  
at Sen. "But as soon as I start, the naga will come after me. Jeremiah is damn long, but I need you to buy me that time. Hell, it might not even  
work, but I'm willing to try. Are you?"

-

Arrangements were hastily made. Midori used her magic to make what looked like a big wok pan that Shiro would sit in while she carried it.  
Agari used the rest of the holy water in her field bottle to squirt onto the snow around their last resort: a circle of defensive wards that Shizuku  
had drawn in the outskirts of the woods further down the slope, where they had been able to clear the ground of snow. That was also where they  
left Kita and Sen; the latter refused to be part of cold-blooded murder. Shahrokh was given instructions to divert the naga's attention as much  
as possible and keep it from harming them.

"_This is the stupidest thing I've done in my life._"

He sat down in the wok pan and gripped the edges tightly. Midori lifted the pan up over her head, taking a few testing steps.

"You good up there, Shiro-kun~?"

"I trust I'm in good hands, at least", he smiled, somewhere between nervous and excited. "Let's do this quick and we'll have time for a bath in  
the hot springs down at the teachers' camp, yeah?"

"Is strange human habit, boiling yourself alive", she chortled, walking up towards the sealed naga.

"It's thanks to that I'm soft enough in the head to do something like this." The naga watched them come, tongue flicking in and out. "If we're in  
a pinch just let me go and run, okay?"

"No goodbyes, Shiro-kun."

"What does that even mean?"

"Means we'll meet again." He heard a smile in the voice below him. "My mother always said so before mission."

Midori had stopped: so had the naga. It watched them curiously with unblinking eyes, trying to deduce what was the meaning of all this.

"The words of Jeremiah son of Hilkiah, of the priests that were in Anathoth the land of Benjamin…"

The naga struck. Midori dodged, and the pan tilted. Shiro glued his fingers around the edges as they skidded this way and that, and chanted steadily.  
The shahrokh dove down, narrowly escaping the naga's jaws when its head flicked to the side to meet the air strike.

Running back and forth worked well, until the naga grew so agitated it let go of the tablet. The tail smashed into the ground and threw fountains of  
snow into the air, forcing Midori into long jumps and hair needle turns. And at one point…

"No goodbyes~!"

She flung the wok pan down the slope. Shiro almost bit his tongue off when it landed, but kept the chant going through the jerking and wobbling.  
The metal surface skimmed over the fresh snow just as they had hoped it would, and he swished down towards the trees at terrific speed. The naga  
slithered a snow-frothing slalom after him, gaining on him, eyes ablaze with bloodlust. He almost lost his lines when the giant snake jerked violently  
to the side, tossing its head this way and that, the gap between them widening again: Midori had gotten up on the scaly body, hanging narrowly onto  
the slits between the scales with her claws.

"_That girl…_" She was riding on the naga's head, holding it by the hornlike eyebrow ridges. And waving. "_If I survive this, I'll ask her out on a date.  
Hell, I'll marry her._"

The improvised pulk slowed to a halt a few feet short of the tree line. Shiro jogged into the warding circle, giving a short nod to the others to  
confirm that he was fine. Turning, he saw that the naga had shaken Midori off and was approaching fast. It winced when it reached the trails  
of holy water, but that didn't hold it for long.

The shahrokh landed outside the warding circle, cocking its head inquiringly at him. Whatever that meant. Shiro sincerely hoped he would say the  
fatal verses soon, for he was nearing the end of the part he knew.

Surprised voices almost broke his concentration. Looking up, the autumn-red trees had begun sprouting new branches and green leaves. Just like  
in the forest in True Cross Town. He looked back down at the shahrokh, who was still tilting her head in concentration.

"_Spirit of fertility…?_" he thought thickly: as the trees grew, he felt increasingly fatigued.

Soon the warding circle was reinforced with a cage of thick branches, twined and braided into an almost solid surface. It didn't take long before it  
shook with the first blow of the naga's tail. Shiro welcomed it: it sharpened his mind. The drained dizziness was almost overwhelming, but the  
infusion of adrenaline cleared the fog.

"…and I will kindle a fire in her forest, and it shall devour all that is round about her."

And when he said it, he knew it had been the one. Through the small holes in the wooden cage came wafts of dissipating dark miasma, just as it had  
when he had exorcised the demon possessing Yasuda. He sat down on his knees where he had stood, thoroughly exhausted.

"Wow, Shiro-san…!"

"Well done, ye idiot!"

"Seems punishment homework did some good."

-

Sen's goblin pulled the stone tablet and most of their packs in the wok pan back to camp. Ryuuji carried Kita, and Midori carried Shiro.

"This might not be the most elegant way of asking…" He hung on her shoulder, smelling pine and warm earth in her hair.

"I know all about your elegance, Shiro-kun~"

"Right. You've witnessed its astonishing finesse firsthand. I'm asking anyway: would you go out with me?"

"Go out with?"

"You know, the two of us going out: go to the night market, or to the cinema, or Mepphy Land…?"

"I'd love to!"

Shiro smiled into her neck.

"You were really cool, by the way. When you rode on the head of the naga."

"You looked small from up there. Like frightened fawn in wok pan", she laughed.


	25. 25: Masterpieces

**A/N: "Now back to the good part~! From the day he was born, he yearned for adventure! Oh Captain Jack...!" Hrm, yeah...** ***serious face***

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"How did we do on the exam?" Shiro said as he sauntered past the newly added No Smoking-sign on the white double doors, an unlit cigarette  
between his teeth.

"One foot six inches."

"The length of your hair curl?" he asked, pulling a paper tissue from his pocket.

"The height of the paper stacks I'm stuck with", came the sardonic response from said curl; the only part of him visible behind the wall of paper  
on his desk. "Did you get my tea from Mayu-chan?"

"Right here."

"Finally~ Ukobach."

The purple monkey with the apron poofed in front of Shiro, holding out its kitchen mittens. It chirped happily as it accepted the parcel and  
disappeared. Shiro blew his nose. Behind the paper stacks, the curl froze like a deer sensing a predator.

"Don't tell me you've caught cold?"

"I was in a _snowstorm_. We all caught colds, save for Midori-chan."

-

"I think you're overreacting", Shiro said dryly: he had been banished to an armchair in the farthest end of the room, provided with a stack of  
paper tissue boxes and covered by a pink and polka-dotted merino-possum blanket as thick as an arm. The panda wastebasket hovered  
expectantly at his feet, which were resting on a hot water bottle.

"I think you're a highly contagious breeding-ground for microorganisms." Mephisto's voice came slightly muffled through the surgical mask.

"Oh come on, you probably can't even catch cold! I bet viruses die as soon as they enter your miasma-mutated former human body."

"How rude. This body would be perfectly human if I left it, for your information. And to answer your earlier question, I'm reading the report on  
your exam right now. You all seem apt at the classes you've chosen and are likely to pass. Except you."

"What, you're failing me because I'm sneezing in your office?"

"Tempting, but no: you're passing. You haven't chosen a Meister class, though."

"No, I haven't. I'm thinking of Dragoon and Tamer."

"What you think doesn't really matter, I'm going to sign you up for all five."

"Come again?" He blew his nose, then watched the wastebasket skip and catch the paper in mid-air.

"Eins, zwei, drei!" The round table in the middle of the room lifted a few inches and hovered to stand by Shiro's armchair. "The map you  
requested, the one with tabs on the wards. Take a look."

Shiro stared at the map that covered the better part of the table.

"I didn't know you had kids."

Mephisto looked up from behind the papers with a face of idle confusion.

"Me, kids? I have a school full of them, I don't need any runts of my own to keep me busy."

Shiro's eyes fell back to the map of True Cross Academy: a wobbly, pink wedding cake subjected to several earthquakes. Around it lay the  
ramshackle sugar cube-houses of True Cross Town, with blue smoke spiralling out of the chimneys, green cloud-puffs and brightly coloured  
flowers marking the forests, and streets that were populated by red stick-figures with bumpy heads and smiling faces. At the top of the wedding  
cake was a stick-figure with a top hat (or a chimney) and little fangs added to the squiggly smile.

Shiro covered his eyes, trembling with laughter.

"What?" Nope, Mephisto's face said he didn't get it. Didn't get it at all. "Don't even think of coughing on my map. I put a lot of work into that."

"Oh, I can tell… I like it, I really do", he grinned from ear to ear. "Why is the sun purple?"

"My little brother ate the yellow crayon."

"Your brother…?"

"He thought it was a pocky stick", Mephisto explained distractedly while looking for a document that wasn't where it was supposed to be.

"Brother, as in, _demon _brother?"

"I certainly don't have any human brothers. And while babysitting is not my favourite pastime, family is family." Realizing that Shiro's question  
might have sprung from concern, he added: "Not to worry, he won't harm the students. He knows I'll kill him if he does."

Shiro decided it was probably a good thing that Mephisto didn't have kids.

-

In stark contrast to the artwork was the elegant handwriting that marked the locations of wards in deep red ink. There was also penned, in neat  
figures, the dates and times when the wards had been compromised. It didn't take long to calculate that some were too far apart from one  
another for one person to tear them both within the noted times.

"So it's more than one guy, and therefore you want me to infiltrate all five Meister classes?"

"It's more than one person, in more than one year class", Mephisto corrected. "I conducted an experiment while you were away. These camps  
are normally held once a year, simultaneously for all cram school students; this year we sent one class at a time. Only the teachers knew of this.  
Students were told not to discuss the matter outside their class, with the pretext that it could compromise test results in exams."

"_To see if the sabotage stopped while a certain class was away…_" Shiro blew his nose again, which made the wastebasket jump up and down  
excitedly. "_Huh. I wonder how long it would take to condition Pavlov's panda?_"

"Over the entire camp period there have been no disturbances in the barrier. Meaning", an entire stack moved down into a basket labelled _Done_,  
leaving visible a Mephisto whose eyes were framed by darker bags than usual, "that our saboteurs are well informed and well organized, and can  
be in any of the classes. Optimally, I would like you to advance enough in your Meisters to attend class with older students."

"Kita-san's brother knew when my class was going", Shiro remembered. "The Yaonaru kid. They'd been talking despite the ban."

"Is that so~?" His ears perked visibly, and the peculiar curl on his head twitched with interest. "Did you learn anything else from camp?"

"Sen-chan has some really nasty sides."

"Didn't like the idea of killing a sealed demon, did she~?"

"Not only that." He took the cigarette from his lips and twirled it around in his fingers. "She knew it wouldn't disappear if the seal was broken,  
and yet she didn't say a word when Shizuku-san and I were trying to break it. Same when Agari-chan and Kita-san had gone down the crater:  
she basically wanted to leave them to die."

"The Futotsuki never instigate conflict", Mephisto said, leafing through a report. "But they will quite happily stand by in a conflict and let nature  
take its course, so to speak."

Ukobach came back, carrying a silver tray with a steaming kettle and two delicate teacups, a tiny cream jug and a sugar bowl the size of half a  
honeydew. The little familiar served Mephisto first, which prompted him to remove the stupid-looking surgical mask, and trotted over to pour  
Shiro a cup.

"None for my guest, Ukobach. He takes green tea with some lemon, sliced ginger and wild bee's honey." He glanced over the cup with a leer in  
his eyes as Ukobach bowed and disappeared. "Though it would be rather interesting to see the effects of this on a non-miasma-altered human  
body." He set down the cup with a satisfied smile. "What are your plans for Christmas break~?"

Shiro hadn't had any plans initially, but now that Midori had agreed to a date… and if that went well…

"I was thinking of spending Christmas with someone", he said guardedly as he put the cigarette back in his mouth, wondering where the principal  
was going with this.

"I'm guessing that someone isn't me?"

Shiro made some probably quite offensive grimaces before he regained control over his face.

"Why would I spend Christmas with _you_?"

"Because the Vatican says so~" he smiled pleasantly.

A paper plane came gliding across the room: probably with the aid of magic, since no paper plane ever flies where you want it to. Shiro unfolded  
it and coughed into his sleeve as he skimmed the text. Japanese branch, True Cross, reports of disturbances, possession of student, branch head  
Pheles and eyewitness Fujimoto called for audition on Christmas Eve. Signed with a spirally signature that was illegible enough to be very important.

"Why Christmas?" Shiro groaned as he tossed the letter on the table.

"They don't want to keep me from work. They're kind, considerate people over there", Mephisto said with a smile so sincere it could be used in  
psychological warfare. "It certainly has nothing to do with forcing me to attend Christmas Mass."

Somehow, the thought of Mephisto being forced to do something was quite amusing. It was an impossibility in Shiro's mind that anyone could  
have mandate to give him orders.

"Do they really own you?" He tilted his head sceptically. "'cause I don't think they do. _They _might think they do, but I don't."

"Speaking as if I were a pet dog", he said dryly, thin eyebrows going up. "There is no seal or contract that binds me, if that is what you're asking.  
People of the church tend to oppose that kind of… agreement~"

"Officially", Shiro added knowingly. "Whether they do it openly or not, they are accepting help from a demon. What I'm asking is why. Without  
contract or guarantee of any kind, why does the Vatican trust you?"

"Politics~!" Mephisto stirred more sugar into his cup with a devilish grin. "The lovely, twisted theatre of politics, where enemy becomes ally on  
no other grounds than having another enemy in common. They oppose Satan, so do I, and thus we become unlikely bedmates in a most  
scandalous affair~" He downed the cup, as if toasting the announcement. "To be perfectly honest, Shiro-kun, they don't trust me at all. Were  
they to find a human with the same qualifications I would be replaced in no time." His ever-mocking voice added without words that no such  
human existed, that the Vatican was stuck with him whether they liked it or not, and that he was immensely smug about it.

"At least one of us gets to spend Christmas with a bedmate…" Shiro accepted the steaming teacup Ukobach offered him and pushed the letter off  
the map. "Something caught my eye here. These wards here… oh come on, I can't show you from this distance. You're not gonna catch cold from  
standing next to me."

Mephisto approached him like a bomb technician approaches an unknown contraption. Shiro considered coughing a bit, but thought better of it  
since he held a cup of scalding hot tea.

"These wards here have never been destroyed. The area's labelled, er…" he squinted at the old-fashioned handwriting.

"Maze", he read, swiftly plucked the cigarette from Shiro's lips and tossed it over his shoulder, making the panda leap like a soccer goalkeeper.  
"It's part of the internal defence structure of the Academy, off limits to everyone."

"I hadn't even lit that", he said flatly.

"You're better off without it."

Shiro was sorely tempted to do something – yank his hair curl or set his goatee on fire – but suspected he would regret it dearly if he did.

"How's a maze a defence structure?"

"Not _a _maze." Mephisto looked like the question was a personal insult. One that merited the sulkiest glare Shiro had ever received. "_The _maze.  
The greatest maze ever built: das Labyrinth des Limbus."

"Is that German? It sounds like a trash can full of bolts being kicked down a staircase. I don't understand a word."

"Trash can!" The curl twitched indignantly. "German is a beautiful language with umlaut pluralisation and case marking and endless possibilities  
for affixed derivation, noble things that merit admiration beyond your linguistic understanding!"

"Yeah, I didn't understand a word of that either", he observed with disinterest, remedying an itch in his ear. "And I don't get what's so amazing  
with that labyrinth-thing."

"It's a metaphysical maze, the only one of its kind." He crossed his arms sullenly.

"If it's the only one, why does it say maze in more than one place on the map?"

"Because it's a _metaphysical _maze!"

Shiro raised an unimpressed eyebrow: inwardly, he grinned.

"Time and space are like clay in the hands of those who master metaphysics", Mephisto grumbled and glared back at the paper stacks, his smirk  
having almost turned upside down. "It's the same maze in several places. The perfect maze, impossible to get out of without my permission."

Shiro had to process that for a while, and in the end decided to divert from his taunt.

"Then the keys to the academy, the magical keys…?"

"Bend space, to get humans around the defences."

"And you made them?"

"Who else?" he frowned.

"I have to say, that is pretty awesome", Shiro admitted, deciding that Mephisto had been sufficiently penalized for the cigarette.

"Of course it is~!" he grinned, hands coming to rest on his hips in a display of self-satisfied pride. Any earlier damage done to his ego was  
immediately forgotten.

Shiro hid his smile by sipping tea – very tasty tea, one might add. He may be a demon, but he was… funny. Insufferable in his sudden mood  
swings, but in some peculiar way they also made him… likeable. Not to mention that his artistic aspirations were the most hilarious thing he'd  
ever seen…

"So with mazes and barriers, how does your little brother get in to eat your crayons?"

"Through the miracles of modern technology." He gestured at the phone on his desk; an object Shiro would have called monstrosity of modern  
technology if he hadn't known pink was Mephisto's favourite colour. "He gives me a call, I let him in using the keys."

"And the Vatican is okay with that?" Shiro smiled with a raised eyebrow.

"The Vatican can't discriminate: same rules apply to me as to other exorcists, and nowhere does it say it's forbidden to see relatives", he snickered.  
"Even if they did protest they would have to bend to the advantages of it. My brother is an excellent source of news of what happens in Gehenna."

"But whose side is he on?" Shiro used the teacup-cover again while he tried to fit the pieces together. "If he supplies information to you, but lives  
in Gehenna…?"

Was it correct information he supplied? Did Mephisto pass on all of it to the Vatican, or only the parts he saw fit? Did he give them the wrong  
information, even…? And did Mephisto in turn sell information to his brother…?

"Loyal to humans, to demons, or to family – who can tell~?" A smirk tugged the edges of his lips, only so much that the tips of his fangs could  
be discerned. "It's very hard to determine a demon's alliances…"

**A/N: I have nothing against German, personally. I don't think Shiro has, either. Just ticking Mephisto off... =3**


	26. 26: Sealed secrets

**A/N:** **I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Since Shiro had been, to use the most gentle term, _evicted_ from his dorm room, he had moved in with Kita. While he had argued that he was  
fine with sleeping on the floor in the corridor, or in the attic, or on the roof, the dorm regulations had not allowed that. And since Kita was in  
his class, and there had been one bunk vacant…

"_I'll throw it out and say it was stolen. Or leave the window open while it rains…_"

Shiro had asked Kita early on to turn his tape recorder off while they studied, and the only thing that had gotten him was a long and scientific  
explanation of how Mozart benefitted the learning process. It was also the first time he had heard anyone make footnote references in speech.

Shiro was pondering which would be most beneficial to his learning process – hauling the recorder out the window, or hauling Kita's crutches out  
the window – when somebody knocked on the door.

"Hello." Sen's big, empty eyes looked up at him when he opened. "Midori and I have been talking. We want to help you."

"Uh, with what…?"

"Come."

Shiro had officially never been to the girls' dorm, and although he knew where the bathrooms were he had never actually been to one of the  
dorm rooms.

"I'm sorry about the naga on the exam", he said. There was no telling from Sen's face if she held a grudge because of that or not, but he  
suspected she might. "Sometimes you have to make hard decisions and do things even if you don't want to. I think that might even have  
been what they were trying to teach us."

"You don't know what you did, Shiro-kun", she said softly. "One day you might, or you might not. We shall see."

-

Sadly, the girls' dorm rooms looked exactly like they did in the boys' dorm: two bunks, two windows, two desks. Though it was a bit unusual  
to see the all the bed linens on the floor.

"Pillow-fight…?"

"Midori doesn't like beds. She says she feels like the mattress will swallow her at night."

"Huh…" Well… if you've spent most of your life sleeping on the forest floor… "Where is she now?" he leaned on the desk, hands in his pockets.  
"And what kind of help are you talking about?"

"She's practicing for Knight. She told me about the tengu." Sen seated herself on a flower-patterned zabuton and produced a paper tissue from  
the box on her bed table. "And I told her about the yuki onna.* She asked me to help you."

"With…?" Shiro led on.

"With your problem."

"What problem?"

"Only you know what your problem is", she said dreamily. "What I know is that you have one. Demons live in the human heart. That is how  
they possess us." Sen placed a hand over her chest where her tattoo was. "Demons always see the truth, Shiro-kun. You can't hide the darkness  
in your heart from them as you do from us."

"Oh, I see. My problem." He shifted his weight to the other foot. He wouldn't deny that he had… darkness. He wouldn't deny it was a problem,  
especially if it attracted demons. Yet Sen wasn't a person he felt like talking about that with. "So what do I do? I root it out, like a weed?"

"No." Sen's head shook slowly from side to side. With the tissue covering her nose and mouth she looked like a ghost owl: the big, eerie eyes  
never left Shiro. "Darkness is part of the human soul. It doesn't go away. Pretending it's not there only lets it to grow stronger, and then it will  
control you. Acknowledge your darkness, and let it be part of you: that way, it is under your control. That way, you can at will open or close the  
door for demons that would possess you. That is how we, the Futotsuki, bond with our familiars. We let them tap into our darkness, be part of  
us without taking control of us, and through that they come to understand us. And we them. We were not always exorcists; only when there was  
a need. Before that, demons were our comrades, our friends, our family. We lived in peace together because we understood each other." An  
idle smile skimmed her lips. "A human can never see into the heart of another, never fully know or understand another human being. A demon can."

"So what should I do about my problem? I understand the theory of it, but I don't see what I can do."

"Look it in the eye. Go to the things inside that you don't want to see and look at them. Look until they lose their power over you."

Shiro grimaced. Sen's words had sent his thoughts that way already, and they recoiled from the memories like a child burnt by fire.

"I think I get it." Silence. She didn't move, hardly even blinked. Shiro could feel at ease around almost anything – hostility, friendliness,  
nervousness, fear – but this utter lack of emotional display…? It made his skin crawl. "Um, anything else, or should I go…?"

"You may go", she chimed. A soft smile spread on her lips. "Midori said that next weekend would be good for going out, if that is okay for you."

"Oh." Shiro grinned wide. "Tell her next weekend will be perfect. And thanks for the help."

Barely had he rounded the corner for the exit when he met Agari. She had just come back from training too, judging from the sweat on her  
brow and the wooden sword in her hand. Her nose was a painful red.

"What are you doing in the girls' dorm?"

"Why, nice to meet you too", he smiled good-naturedly. "Should you be training hard with that cold?"

"I don't like sitting idle. And I asked you a question."

"I was just paying my date a visit."

"Date? The half-breed girl?" Agari's face set in stone.

"Don't say it so Sen-chan hears you", he warned with a smirk. "By the way, how are things with your secret admirer?"

"My what?"

She didn't know? Shiro's grin grew wider.

"Oh, I shouldn't spoil the surprise, then. See you 'round~"

He sauntered past her, waving over his shoulder.

It was colder outdoors now. The snowstorm in Hakkoda had been an early one, but autumn had definitely given way to winter. The few students  
he met all wore coats and scarves, huddling close together and glancing furtively at the grey sky.

"_Acknowledging the darkness?_" He pulled his school uniform blazer tighter around him, coughing into his sleeve. "_Sounds like something out of  
a manga. And it's advice from Sen-chan – what to make of her? I can't even tell if she hates my guts for the exam or if she's made her peace  
with it._" He would have to try her advice, though. There was no helping it. An exorcist couldn't be wide open to demon influence. "_Pff, as if I'm  
not already_", he thought, a certain pair of heavy-lidded, forest green eyes coming to mind. If demons could see into one's heart... Yeah, he  
definitely needed to try out Sen's advice. Another train of thought spawned from the same source: "_Am I starting to consider becoming an  
exorcist...?_"

It wasn't that far-fetched, really. He was a good shot, he had a familiar, he could keep his head cool - well, maybe not around humans... One  
step at a time. Deal with the demons first. His steps were small and unsteady, like a kid who's fallen off a bike once hesitantly puts his feet  
back on the pedals. Where to start? At the beginning or the end? Where it burnt the most or the least?

He couldn't remember his mom's face. The realization made him stop dead in his tracks, misty breath clouding his glasses. He could see her  
back when she stood by the stove, hear her voice and see her hands when she moved the chopsticks at dinner, but he couldn't see her face.  
Had it been that long…? Shiro resumed walking.

His dad's face brought the first seething ember to life in his chest. The ruffled hair that matched his, and the laughing lines around his mouth and  
eyes… He had friendly eyes, honest eyes, eyes that made Shiro's shoulders stiffen. He held that image in his mind, looked at it, but the anger only  
burned fiercer. It was outside his will, he realized: anger was his automatic response to this, like swatting away a knife stabbed at him. And the  
Futotsuki way was to let the knife strike home…?

"_Dammit…_"

He left his dad, sought his mom, found her on the futon: sleeping. Yes, he'd thought she was sleeping. He'd only been ten, it hadn't yet become  
a possibility in his world that people could kill themselves. That ordinary pills from the bathroom could make you fall asleep and never wake up  
again. He didn't see her face then, either. He felt the weight of the blue and orange backpack he was carrying, and the fibres in the tatami mat  
under his feet, but he couldn't recall her face. He saw her wedding ring, saw her hand resting on a chest that didn't rise and fall as it should have.  
And he should have cried, should have mourned, but the lump in his chest had caught fire and instead he'd screamed… broken things, beat other  
kids up…

"_She shouldn't have died_", he thought, feeling his teeth clench as his body remembered. "_Damn you for dying without even putting up a fight.  
I hated her for giving up, for being so weak…_" Shiro closed his eyes, tasted the bile of old resent and pent-up disappointment. "_I hated her for  
accepting what he did. Quietly. Looking the other way. Pretending everything was fine._"

He held on to the memories of his mother as long as he could, but it was like holding your breath underwater: the burning tightness in his chest,  
his heartbeat thumping against the inside of his skull, the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped…

"_I can't do this._" He came to a stop outside his porch, trembling, feeling like he was in all places and all times at once. Fragments of memories  
bombarded him and stretched his thoughts thin over the yawning chasm, dismantling him quietly where he stood. "_I can't go in to Kita-san like  
this. I can't go in there and pretend I'm fine and all is normal. Like they did. Day after day, like a theatre, with no secrets and no false promises…_"

To his horror, closing the door once it was open wasn't as easy. Memories jumped out from every dark corner, dragging his struggling thoughts  
back to the graves he'd tried to bury them in. Sen was right: darkness grew stronger when ignored, and it would control him if he didn't face  
it. He would put up the fight his mother hadn't. He'd promised himself long ago he wouldn't be that weak, hadn't he? That he'd look the ugly  
truth in the eye, always – and yet he'd done the same. Pretended it had never happened. The most convenient way of handling an inconvenient  
matter is to look the other way and remain silent.

Shiro had learnt to fight people of flesh and blood and be in control of the world around him, but inside…? Inside, wits and knives and dirty tricks  
count for nothing. When the opponent is your own dark shadow, there is no other way but to fight fair and hope that you are stronger.

He started planning. Planning is great for organizing thoughts. It brings order to chaos, herds the sheep in line, forms a thin red thread to hang  
onto.

He would study for all five Meisters and spy on his classmates as he did. Kita was the main suspect for now, but he was disabled and wouldn't yield  
anything but oral evidence, if he could be made to talk. If Mephisto told the truth about the Vatican's lack of trust – which did sound like truth – then  
Agari was a suspect, since she appeared to have or have had contact with the Vatican. A plot on their behalf to provide an excuse for getting rid of  
an unwanted ally, perhaps? Then Christmas could get quite interesting… Midori and Ryuuji had been found in compromising situations, but other than  
that there was nothing on them. Midori didn't like Mephisto, sure, but she didn't have the contact network to pull off an operation of this size. The ones  
who did were families and clans of influence, like Yaonaru, Todo, and Futotsuki.

Todo and Yaonaru definitely were candidates: strict, effective, proud, competitive, potentially ruthless. Yaonaru slightly more suspicious, since  
there was one in his class. Futotsuki? He didn't know what to make of them. Sen had the motives and the contacts for being part of a conspiracy  
against the academy, but her thoughts…? And if the Futotsuki weren't in the habit of instigating conflict… Shiro's thoughts roamed back to the  
camp, tried to recall everything Sen had said and done, tried to deduce…

"_I wonder… if I've been doing it wrong all along…_"

He entered the dorm, hurried his way through the stairs and corridors. Kita was in, so he just grabbed his books and went to sit in the empty dorm  
kitchen. _Comprehensive Demonology for the 20__th__ Century _was left untouched, and instead he opened _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_, which was  
basically all about seals and summoning circles.

Sen had told the wrong seals from the right one by looking at the little details of the symbols in the circles. Futotsuki-sensei had stressed the  
importance of getting the details down correctly. It just might be so that he'd been looking at the details, not the whole thing…

Reaching the last pages of the book, Shiro turned it ninety degrees sideways and found it: Mephisto's ward. It wasn't a ward in itself, but a single  
symbol taken from a seal: the Secret Seal of Solomon. He turned the book again and read.

"_'...__by which he bound and sealed up the spirits with their legions in a Brazen Vessel.' Why would he…?_"

Shiro fumbled for _Comprehensive Demonology_, thoughts racing three steps ahead of his fingers. He flipped it open and retrieved the map he'd  
hidden there, then spread Mephisto's colourful rendition of the academy over the table. _Clavicula Salomonis Regis _next to it, he traced lines  
between the wards with a trembling finger. Two concentric circles… a horizontal strike through the inner one… a semi-circle, and… The seals were  
the same. Mephisto wasn't keeping anything _out _of the academy: he was keeping something _in _it. And whatever it was, it was powerful beyond  
imagination. The Secret Seal of Solomon could bind entire legions of demons, and this seal was large enough to cover True Cross Academy and  
parts of the surrounding town.

**A/N: Now we're getting started for real~**

**A bit of trivia that some might find interesting. I procured a copy of _Clavicula Salomonis Regis_ for this, along with a few other works.  
Go back and check the seal Neuhaus uses to demonstrate summoning in the second volume: that is taken from _Clavicula Salomonis  
Regis _(though it's not a summoning circle, it's a circle to protect the summoner from the summoned spirits). I sqweed quite a bit  
when I realized ****Kazue Kato and I are using the same sources. x3**

*** Yuki onna: snow lady. Keep veeeery far away if you're a man (though I guess women could be targets, too).**


	27. 27: The date that wasn't

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

There is a practical reason that exorcists usually only Meister in two classes at a time. If you try for more, sooner or later you will find that you've  
put your pen in the toothbrush cup, your toothbrush in the laundry, and your socks in your pen satchel. When weekend finally came, Shiro felt like  
a marathon-runner crawling over the finishing line on all fours. With no socks.

"_If I just make it 'til Christmas break…_" He made a symbolic attempt to straighten his tie in the mirror, trying hard to ignore the voice in his head  
that said the purplish bags under his eyes made him look more and more like Mephisto. "Oi, I'm going out. Don't know when I'll be back, but I've  
got keys an' everything."

Kita nodded: end of exchange. He had hardly said a word to Shiro since it became known that Fujimoto Shiro had applied to all Meister classes. It  
wasn't hard to guess why. Kita was number one in their class, and probably had been number one in every class he'd ever attended, and when a  
new male challenges the alpha male over his territory…

Shiro didn't have the energy to try and sort things out with Kita. Maybe over Christmas, if he was in school when they came back from Rome…

"_Or I'll just sleep through break_", he amended, finding the keys he'd thought he had in his pocket in his left shoe.

-

"Shiro-kun."

He had barely come outside the boys' dorm when Agari's tall, busty form addressed him from under a tree beside the walkway.

"Why hello, creepy-stalker-chan. I'm already on a date, technically, but you can sign up on the waiting list."

"Always playing tough, acting like you don't care and causing a ruckus." She didn't sound accusing, or condescending, or any such thing one could  
have expected: no, she sounded like a doctor reading a patient's test results. "I recognize an orphan when I meet one." She stepped out on the path,  
arms crossed and face stiff as it usually was. "I don't need to tell you what you really feel, inside. I just came to tell you, one orphan to another,  
that you should think twice before you go on that date. That _creature _you are going to see is just as capable of killing and deceiving as a full-blooded  
demon."

"So far, that _creature _hasn't moved a finger to harm anyone. _You_, on the other hand…" He kept his hands in his pockets, kept his voice relaxed.  
She didn't know shit about what he felt inside.

"I'm not here to start a fight, Shiro-kun. I want to warn you. The half-demon that orphaned me had never moved a finger to harm anyone, either;  
until one day he was overcome by instinct, and mangled the bodies of my parents and my little brother." He could see it now, as if her words were  
the key to the inside of her rigid facade: the memories that didn't go away, the anger and the helplessness that fuelled her fire, and the callousness  
that justified any means to the ends she held for right. All the signs of an orphan trapped by the past. "Most of them don't _intend _to harm: but they  
do, eventually, because it's in a demon's nature to destroy. What will you do then, if you feel for her? Will you do your duty as an exorcist? Or will  
you beg her to take reason while she carves you up like a pumpkin?"

"Was that what your parents did?" Shiro regretted it the moment the words were past his lips. He regretted it so hard and earnest time should  
have taken pity and rewound, but time does not feel pity or compassion.

Agari's icy shell cracked audibly, leaking a mixture of emotion onto her face that made Shiro cringe.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

Shiro could hear every tooth in his skull rattle from the blow. Agari held back nothing, to the point where he thought he heard her knuckles pop  
and dislocate.

"I was wrong", he heard her say through gritted teeth: her knuckles probably had dislocated. "You're a perfect match for demon filth."

She stomped off in the darkening afternoon, and he watched her go. There was nothing in the world he could have said.

"_I just can't fucking believe myself…_" He ran his tongue around his mouth, tasting blood but finding no damage to his teeth. He spat, almost  
wishing he had sustained injury. "_The hell am I doing? At this rate I won't get snuffed by a demon, rather my own teammates…_" He put a cigarette  
to his lips – out of habit, out of turmoil, out of comfort…? "_My hand's trembling?_ _Shit…_" He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at it in the back of  
his head. "_I'm really… man, I just mocked her dead parents…_"

-

Feeling like the biggest asshole in the world, Shiro walked on towards the girls' dorm. At least he had to tell Midori that the date would have to be  
postponed: he had to go back and apologize to Agari, sort things out. Somehow. If that was even possible. He had no idea what to say, but he had  
caused the mess and he was going to clean it up.

"Postponed?" Midori's head tilted to the side curiously. She wore a baggy jumper with the skirt in place of her uniform shirt, and she looked adorable.

"Yeah. Sorry. It's not your fault. I messed something up that I have to take care of."

"You smell of blood." An unusually serious expression settled on her face. "What happened?"

"_Well, why not? She might even help me figure out some way of apologizing._" He drew a breath of cold air. "I had a fight with Agari-chan. Or, well,  
I was being a dick and she punched me. She had every right to. I just…" he spread his arms helplessly while his hands were still in his jacket pockets.  
"I have to come up with some way of saying I'm sorry to her. I was awful. I didn't mean what I said."

"What you said?"

"…it's not gonna sound good. It just popped out of my mouth, okay? She'd just told me her parents were killed by a half-demon." Was this a wise  
thing to talk about? He was tired, he really should have learnt not to talk to people when he was tired… but his mouth kept going. "She said half-  
demons weren't to be trusted – and then she said that you could snap and go crazy, too. And she asked, if you did, what I would do: if I'd put you  
down as an exorcist should or if I'd beg you to take reason while you carved me up like a pumpkin." He dared a quick glance at Midori: she was  
listening attentively, but other than that he couldn't tell. "And then I… I don't mind if you too smack me for this: I asked if that was what her parents  
had done, when they were killed." Shiro shook his aching head. His jaw was going to be various shades of purple over the next days. "I don't know  
why I said that. Hell, I don't know why I'm saying it to you now."

"Silly." Midori flicked him playfully on the nose. "Is darkness speaking, because you are stupid. You don't sleep." She traced semi-circles under  
her eyes to show what she meant. "You go with all Meister. You make yourself weak while you train like Futotsuki. Stupid stupid. Darkness is misery,  
wants misery and makes misery." She shook her head at him, smiling. "Come. We talk to Agari-san."

"We?" Midori had already seized him by the arm and was half dragging him back the way he'd come. "Last time I checked you weren't on the best  
of terms either…"

"If you go yourself you make more trouble. Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun~" she winked, her long tress bouncing on her back.

"Oi, I _can _think", he grumbled. "I just… Thank you, I suppose…"

They walked at brisk pace, following Midori's nose from the tree where Agari had waited for him. It turned out she had walked back to the girls'  
dorm area following a lengthier route, arriving at another one of the buildings. Midori bounced up the stairs so fast she almost dragged him after  
her, and wasted no time knocking on the door to room 71.

Shiro didn't recognize the girl that opened: he rarely recognized girls with A-cup, only if they were insanely pretty. This one wasn't. In fact, he  
would've taken her for a guy if she hadn't lived in the girls' dorm. Her brown eyes roamed them critically and landed on Midori's ears.

"I see. The female half-demon from Esquire class." Next she noticed the blooming bruise on Shiro's jaw. "And the blonde jerk."

"Not gonna argue with that. And you are…?"

"Komui Natsuya, intermediate second class Doctor and Dragoon."

"I could say pleased to meet you, but if you have half the punch Agari-chan packs I'd rather not take the risk. I was wondering if she's here?"

"She is." Natsuya raised a thick black eyebrow. "The question is why you are here."

"Shiro-kun needs to apologize. Can we talk to Agari-san?"

Agari was sitting on Natsuya's bed, her right hand secured with bandages. She didn't say a word when they entered, nor did she need to. A  
tang of antiseptics hung in the room, which was sparsely furnitured even by dorm standards.

"About what I said, earlier. I-" Midori grabbed him by the neck and pushed him into a bow. Damn, she was strong…! "I'm really sorry. I never  
meant to say that. It was a horrible thing to do."

"And I want to thank you." Midori bowed next to him. "You don't want Shiro-kun to be hurt – is good thing, kind thing. Please forgive him. He  
has quick mouth and slow head."

"Get up already!" Agari snarled, looking for all the world embarrassed by the situation. "You have nothing to thank me for", she said, glaring at  
Midori. "And spare me your ingratiating displays. You – I know you're an idiot." The glare burned into Shiro next. "A gigantic, blubbering idiot. You  
might want to think about changing that. I forgive you this time, but next time you feel like opening your mouth in my presence you'd better _think  
_before you do."

-

"How can you thank her?" Shiro wanted to know when they were outside again. "She tried to kill you, dammit! Did she even thank you when you  
went down the crater after her?"

Midori merely smiled at him, her feet so light on the grass she was almost dancing. That she still walked barefoot at this time of year…

"A smile is the strongest weapon, Shiro-kun~" she winked. "Is why they say demons are tempters, yes? We smile, and you lose head. We say  
what you want to hear, and you nod like puppets." She twirled around, poking him lightly in the chest while wearing that playful smile of hers.  
Sweet lord, didn't she remind him of Mephisto…? "Smile can be like slow dagger, slipping in between ribs, not noticed until it hits your heart~" Her  
clawed finger slid slowly over his jacket, tickling the flesh underneath. "Is dreadful thing to use smile for. Is dreadful way to kill. But for dreadful  
people…" She rose up on the balls of her feet, gentle as a sunrise, to whisper in his ear: "For dreadful people, that would kill in dreadful ways,  
smile is worthy dagger~" She sank back, her hands resting on his shoulders and her smile a little less sunny. "I would not use smile that way, but  
if she tries again to stab, my dagger will strike first."

He doubted he understood half of what she said.

"So next time I see you smile I'd better run like hell?"

Midori laughed, and suddenly it was summer again.

"Your thinking is so funny, Shiro-kun!" She beamed like a kid. "Smile is for making friends, for making family. Smile is for everyone. Smile is  
only dagger when someone has taken up dagger already. No dagger from you: no dagger from me, hm~?"

"Man, aren't you weird?" he chortled, following as she resumed bouncing and twirling along the walkway. "It suits you."

"Mm-m, how can it not~? Is me." She cart-wheeled up on a bench, tip-toeing gracefully along the backrest. "How goes your training then,  
Shiro-kun?"

"Fine, except for Knight. Which you already knew", he added sheepishly, remembering that Midori also Meistered in Knight. "I just can't use a  
sword the way Toshio-sensei wants me to."

"You lack spirit of samurai, sensei thinks~ Is true, though. You are ninja; kicking in weak spot and striking with hidden blades." She winked at  
him and dismounted the bench with a back-flip that would have fetched 9.8 in the Olympics. "But what I ask is your Futotsuki training. How goes  
that?"

Good question. He tried, every night before he went to sleep, to go back to unpleasant memories. They were always unpleasant. Nothing changed  
about that, and he suspected nothing ever would. He couldn't forgive his parents, and he couldn't change the memories, so what was he supposed  
to do?

"I don't know how it's supposed to go in the first place. 'Look until the darkness loses its power over you', she said, but how do I know when it does?"

"When it doesn't leap out like frightened rabbit. When it doesn't tie your tongue. Try telling me and you will see~"

"Tell you about… what I don't want to remember?"

Midori nodded animatedly.

"Right…" He plucked the unlit cigarette from his lips – and suddenly, words were something he'd known in another life. Finding the right ones  
and piecing them together was a mysterious science buried in the ancient pyramids of Egypt, or some other distant, unreachable place.

"_My mom died when I was a kid_", he said with silent lips."_Dad made off with all our money, and she killed herself. He was a jerk, a lying bastard  
son of a…_" And suddenly it stung, like a poison wasp, and his chest tightened around his lungs. More memories, older memories, buried the layer  
beneath the bad ones: his dad teaching him to ride a bike, helping him with maths, playing soccer, kissing his mom's cheek… Ironically, it is the  
best memories that hurt the most. "_He was always so nice to me… How could he smile? How could that asshole smile like that when he…?_" His  
chest tightened to the point where he could barely breathe, and no words came out. "I can't… Shit, I…"

He'd been a great dad. The kind of dad that rather saw his son happily chasing ducks in the park than droning over homework. Playtime over duty,  
pleasure over plight: the kind of man who doesn't clean up his mess, who turns to run when it builds too high, and is crushed under its weight when  
it collapses. A great dad, and an irresponsible, cowardly bastard of a human being.

"Keep training, Shiro-kun." Midori's hand ghosted against his shoulder. "Is bad, but does good. Let me know how you do and I will help, yes? Now,  
do I stay, or leave?"

He shook his head, glaring at the ground, struggling to control his vocal cords.

"Leave. I'll be fine."

"You will", she confirmed, darting back to her dorm.

**A/N: The kind of chapter I'm sure I've written in my sleep. 0_0 I have a vague recollection of sending Shiro on his date with Midori, and then... things ****went wrong...**


	28. 28: Toys

**A/N: I think we can agree that Mephisto shares all rich men's love for exclusive toys (custom controllers, rare collectibles, a  
monster of a limo, etc.), so if anyone out there would like to write a _Cribs_ one-shot featuring him I will love you lots. This chapter  
is entitled _Toys _because it mentions some of the stuff you can buy if you're a filthy rich demon (and because I generally have no  
idea what to call my chapters)…**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"I'll pick you up at the main gate tomorrow, ten a.m."

-

Shiro yawned wide, sending smoke into the air without the aid of a cigarette. It was almost ten-thirty a.m., and Mephisto hadn't shown up. It  
made him very uncomfortable. If he was going for a surprise-behind-your-back again Shiro just might stab the clown now that he had the knife  
back on him. Numerous taxis had already gone past…

"_What was I thinking?_" Shiro cracked up when he spotted a bright pink limousine narrowly clearing the corner. What had he expected, really…?  
"Oi, good morning, show-off! Custom ride, I take it?" he grinned. Apart from being very, very pink, and almost too long to drive around corners,  
the customary Spirit of Ecstasy that adorned all Rolls Royce bonnets had been replaced with a little bat-winged devil.

"Naturally~" The door opened on its own, revealing an interior more like a suite in a luxury hotel. "Though I have it mostly to annoy an old friend  
who's held a grudge against Rolls Royce ever since they bought up Bentley." Mephisto sat in the back with the air of a true, ostentatious aristocrat  
that begged to be slapped in the face.

"Admit it, you have it because you like flashy toys. When does- What happened to your clothes?" Shiro asked as he shoved his suitcase into a corner.

"What is bound to happen when a uniform is designed by people who haven't worn anything but cassocks since the days of the Roman Empire",  
he lamented, adjusting a strap on the sleeve of his white coat with a look of dismay. "The Vatican's fashion sense is beyond salvation." Shiro had  
been about to say he looked almost sensible, polka-dotted cravat notwithstanding.

"Do you ever dress in normal clothes? As in a shirt and long trousers…?" Shiro couldn't really picture that. Mephisto looking normal wasn't Mephisto.

"I always wear a shirt, under my tailcoat. Trousers I avoid as far as possible. Makes my legs look too long for my body…"

"_Don't ask about skirts, don't ask about skirts, don't ask about skirts…_"

"You're making a very strange face right now, Shiro-kun." Mephisto eyed him with suspicion. "You're not going to be car sick, are you…?"

-

Shiro had never been outside Japan and had never had reason to visit an airport. There were a lot more people than he had expected. Most of them  
were men in dark grey business suits, milling about with leather document portfolios, hair parted to the side and stiff, professional faces. Anonymous  
like ants in an ant colony. He didn't really know what that metaphor made Mephisto. Something from outer space… dressed all in white, by far a foot  
taller than anyone else, deep purple hair, a garish pink umbrella for a walking stick, and whistling the opening theme for _Cutie Honey_… Shiro walked  
a few steps behind to fully enjoy people's reactions as the apparition sauntered by.

"Johann Faust the fifth", he smiled at the lady behind the service counter.

Apparently, _Johann Faust V_ was the business-world equivalent to _Open Sesame._ Shiro's suitcase was immediately taken by an assistant, and a  
personal escort took them past the queues, past security, through the VIP lounge to get them each a glass of pink champagne, out a special exit,  
to a…

"You _are _kidding, right?"

Shiro was not what one would call a mechanics nerd, but he did recognize the world's fastest aircraft when he saw it.

"What's with that face?" Mephisto looked pleasantly smug as the escort bowed his leave. "It's just another of my flashy toys~"

"But- but that's a _Habu._"* Shiro didn't bother with appearances. He stared wide-eyed at the sleek, futuristic frame of the plane he'd only seen on the  
covers of magazines along with _World record! _in bold letters. "It's not even an airliner, it's a military spy plane! Only the United States Air Force flies  
those!"

"And NASA", Mephisto filled in, swaggering up the mobile stairs while he sipped champagne. "And me. We'll be in Rome in five hours at most: if we  
flew at top speed we'd make it in two. It's too bad you haven't had the necessary training, flying at three times the speed of sound is quite a thrill~"

-

"…well~?"

Shiro shot him a murderous glare over the magazine. Smug, insufferable bastard…

"It's not bad", he admitted, trying to sound like he didn't care too much.

"Oh well, I suppose I'll pack the rest down, then…"

"Hey! …I mean, it _is… _I want to know if the dofun will have an affair with Ferushen…"

"That's _dauphine_ and _Fersen_." Mephisto pushed the stack of Magaretto Magazines over to him with a criminally satisfied smirk. "No need to be so  
guarded; good literature is good literature, no matter whom it's written for. Know your enemy, know yourself, and you will win a hundred battles,  
Sun Tzu says." He turned a page in his own girls' magazine. "That is true for romance, too~ How is that someone you were going to spend Christmas  
with…?"

"I don't think that's any business of yours."

"Oya oya, not good, then? I could give you a few useful tips~"

Shiro had a snide remark on his tongue when it struck him that, of all people, Mephisto was probably the only expert on both demons and girls' ideas  
on romance, and the best person to ask. It seemed perfectly logic, and fundamentally absurd – like just about anything that concerned Mephisto.

"Right, but only because I've never dated a half-demon before", he stressed, knowing he would probably regret this. "Is there anything I should think  
of, anything I absolutely should avoid?"

"Half-demon…?" At first he looked surprised; then a wicked glow spread over his features, and the demon broke down in fits of mindless, giggling  
laughter.

"What? Can't humans date half-demons?" he snapped, feeling his ears heat.

"You can, but you can also save yourself the trouble", Mephisto snickered, picking up his magazine again. "My tip to you is to get a new pair of glasses."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Shiro asked, crossing his arms.

"Clearly, the ones you have aren't doing you any good."

"Would you talk sense for once!"

"Really now, Shiro-pon: explaining the point spoils the joke~" he sang happily.

It was very difficult, and very frustrating, but Shiro kept his mouth shut. Anything he said to pursue the matter would be pouring oil on the fire, and  
he had another three hours stuck with the clown.

"Don't call me Shiro-pon. Why are we flying to Rome anyway?" he asked. "Aside from showing off like hell in this spaceship of yours. Couldn't you  
just snap your fingers and go 'poof'?"

Mephisto glanced at him over the rim of his magazine, looking very amused.

"Go poof…?"

"Or whatever you call it", Shiro muttered, face sinking deeper into the pages.

"There is an important distinction to be made between _could _and _should_. While knowing one's enemies is essential, knowing one's allies can save  
you plenty of trouble. The Vatican is my bedmate, but a cold and reluctant mistress~" he sighed theatrically and unwrapped a lollipop from a sweets  
stand that looked like a miniature candy shop. "She's hard to please, but content so long as we have separate bedrooms: though whenever I come  
to visit it is wisest not to remind the beauty that she has married the beast~"

"_Will I become like that if I keep reading this stuff…?_" He glanced with a certain amount of horror at the sparkliness surrounding the colonel of the  
French Royal Guard. Yeah, that was probably what the world looked like through Mephisto's eyes… "Sorry, no sympathy points earned. When they  
call me up for testimony and such – what do I say?"

"Preferably not that you're courting a half-demon: in anything else I suggest you tell the truth."

Tell the truth. Everybody made it sound so easy. Well, in this case it was, the possession didn't bother him. What did bother him was the formality  
of it: Shiro had never been on good terms with formality. It was like a shirt fit too small, and the obvious risk was that he'd unbutton it and leave  
it hanging, and consequently piss people off. While he would have had no problem doing so usually, this time around he wouldn't be alone with the  
consequences. Unlike his dad, he would not have others bear the brunt of his screw-ups.

"So it's not okay to date half-demons over there?" he asked – risking another laughing bout, but what the hell…

"Oh, the mere thought would send half of them into cardiac arrest~" The look on Mephisto's face implied that such an event wouldn't bother him in  
the least. "The longer the history, the stronger the shackles of tradition. They don't make any difference between demon and half-demon – go back  
fifty years or so and they would've had you executed alongside Sakura-chan. Quite harsh, yes~?" he said with a smile, looking at Shiro sideways.  
"That's the Vatican for you~"

-

They were picked up at Ciampino airport by Vatican personnel in a car that was professionally black and nowhere near as fancy as Mephisto's. As  
is customary for the population of the respective countries, the Italians only spoke Italian, and Shiro only spoke Japanese. Mephisto appeared to  
be fluent in both.

"They have a translator waiting for you in the courtroom", he said at one point, switching back to Japanese, "but I will see to it that you have one  
throughout the stay."

"'cause you can't be bothered?" he questioned with one eyebrow cocked.

"I will no doubt spend too much time up at the stand to be of any service."

Shiro bit the tip of his tongue. Why did he hesitate to ask? He'd had five hours and more, and yet he couldn't bring himself to it…

"If they think you've, you know, not lived up to your duties: what happens then?"

"Depends on the verdict. I could get anything from misconduct to treason, which would merit a reprimand at best and a death sentence at worst."

"You seem rather happy about that", he noted flatly.

"Of course~!" The excited glimmer in his eyes did not make things less disturbing. "This is chess, Shiro-kun: _real _chess. A game of mind against  
mind, lives for pawns, and Lady Chance watching from behind the curtains~"

-

Rome was just like the pictures in the travel guides. It was old, it was awesome, and it was empty: everybody was busy with Christmas preparations  
at home. The only living things in the streets were coal tar, if that even counts. In the hotel they were staying at there were scarcely enough people  
to take the luggage up to the rooms. They were given a generous breakfast that consisted mostly of cornettos and jam, cookies, and hot chocolate  
(as in literally molten chocolate bars), and Mephisto had to assure him several times that this actually was a breakfast and not a dessert.

When the Vatican representatives came to collect them for the audition, Shiro recognized one of Mephisto's magical keys. The door to the cleaning  
equipment locker opened to a grand hall hung with chandeliers that dwarfed the one in Mephisto's bedroom. Built like a theatre or opera, there  
were three levels of velvet-draped balconies overlooking the raised stand, and all three were packed to the brim.

"Damn", Shiro swore before he could check himself. "So many people!"

"It takes a special guest to draw a crowd like this", Mephisto grinned like a madman, the curl on his head twitching expectantly. "No such fame as  
infamy~"

Infamy indeed. The atmosphere was not what one would call warm, and clashed with Mephisto's enthusiasm in deafening murmurs. Shiro felt surrounded.  
When he found his fingers gravitating towards the pocket with the switchblade he quickly crossed his arms over his chest, to have them somewhere.  
The hostility was the same as when gangs met in the streets, no matter how well dressed it was in starched uniforms and gilded badges.

"Sir Pheles." The short, Japanese exorcist that approached them looked out of place among all the olive-skinned Italians. "Did the trip go well?"

"Not too unpleasant. Will the Grigori be long?"

"They are due to arrive any minute", he said, checking his watch. "Fujimoto-kun? Haruhatsu Hoshi. I will be your translator."

"Pleased to meet you."

A heavy gong startled Shiro, but he masked it by turning to see three robed figures assuming their seats in an elevated niche behind the stand.

"The Court will now hold audition with Mephisto Pheles", a voice rang out from the speaker system, and Haruhatsu translated simultaneously,  
"Chief of the Japanese branch of the Knights of the True Cross. The accused may take the stand."

"Good luck, Sir Pheles", Haruhatsu said gravely, casting a glance at the crammed balconies. "They're here for blood, you know."

"So much the better! Nothing worse than a dull audience~"

-

"Your interrogator will be myself, Timothée Timowan, Chief Justice of the Order's Court law", said the young man at the microphone. No matter  
Shiro's efforts, he was too absorbed by the ugly wig to really pay attention to what he was saying. "And the Grigori will adjudicate. …ah? And  
the current Paladin, Léon Raoul Beaumonde,** will co-lead the interrogation."

"Oh no", Haruhatsu groaned.

Speaking in general terms, there is the "oh no" of something that could go very bad, and the "oh no" of something that will go very bad. The  
"oh no" that strode in from a side door belonged to the latter category. It was a man whose likeness would populate video games, board games  
and fantasy novels with heroes for decades to come: tall, broad-shouldered, with angular features that would make a mason swoon, and a mane  
of rich auburn curls to make the mason's daughters drift off on clouds.

"What's the Paladin?"

"The Order's champion, the best exorcist they have. This one they call the Lion. He's sworn on his family honour that he will be the one who swings  
the axe at Sir Pheles' execution."

"He's going to be _executed_?"

"Probably not for this, but the Lion isn't one to give up when he's set his mind on something…"

**A/N: Suddenly had to get into mechanics for this chapter. ^_^' I'm not even sure Mephisto's limo is a Rolls Royce - it looks like one, save for the logo that bizarrely resembles the Peugeot-lion... .' I went with Rolls Royce mainly because it is the flashiest there is, and makes sense with the modified Spirit of Ecstasy - and, of course, to make the reference to a certain famous demon who loves his 1926 Bentley. =^w^=**

**I love Berusayu no Bara and keep putting it everywhere. Sorry. I intend to make an "at first I was like... / and then I was like..." meme pic for that, depicting me before BnB (sceptic to shoujo, never reads romance or social drama, but had to since it's Shiro's favorite... or becomes Shiro's favorite, after certain influence from Mephisto ;3), and then me AFTER BnB (*sparkly-eyes* Oscaru-samaaaaa~! *nosebleed*).**

***Habu is the name of an Okinawan pit viper. The plane is known under that name only in Japan, and to the rest of the world it's the Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird. Something like the Corvette of the sky *not a car person, but loves Corvettes* Incidentally, it was also the plane that "played" X-men's Blackbird (not necessarily the same as the real plane!) in _X-men: First class_ (or at least they really made it look like an SR-71). Only 32 were ever made, of which 10 still existed in 1975 after the blueprints and manufacturing equipment was destroyed, and it holds a number of world records still, even if it was developed in the 60s. Just the kind of rare, expensive thing Mephisto would buy... or so I think. ^_^'  
**

**** Eeeehehe, yeah... *big Castlevania-fan* Where to begin...? While Belmont is now the standardized surname of the sworn enemies of Dracula, the original transcription is Berumondo or Belmondo, which in Italian would be "beautiful world". This guy is French (I keep imagining Mephisto would have an aversion to the French... ó.ô), so that translates to Beaumonde, which sounds not too far from Belmont anyway. Léon, because it fits with the nickname... and because I like main characters who, like Leon and Gabriel Belmont, lose everything and are utterly crushed... and overall, it's a nice name. Raoul is the French version of Ralph, which is the original name of Trevor Belmont. His name was changed to Trevor when the game was launched outside Japan (apparently, Ralph doesn't sound very heroic?). So, a devil-slayer to interrogate the devil's son~**

**And that's it from your geeky author. =^w^=**


	29. 29: Audition

**A/N: Long chapter. Honestly, it was even longer originally. And more Biblical. I left only a few references in this version, thinking  
it would be proper given the environ, but as always I'm grateful to hear what you think. Does it feel credible? =/ Or should Mephisto  
manoeuvre his argumentation differently?**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Mephisto did not look like an accused on the stand: rather, he looked like a celebrity on stage, enjoying the undivided attention of his fans. Still,  
Shiro had his doubts. The "fans" were rather disapproving of their idol, and the Paladin-guy radiated pure killing intent.

"Mephisto Pheles. Our reports say that a student at your school was at one point possessed by a demon. Is this true?"

"Yes."

"And are you not, as principal, responsible for the safety of the students?"

"That I am", he replied without a worry in the world.

"Could you then clarify how it was possible for a demon to possess one of your students?"

"Indeed I can. True Cross Academy is surrounded by barriers: no demon can trespass there. The boy must have encountered the demon somewhere  
outside, most likely in True Cross Town, which does not fall under my jurisdiction."

"If no demon can trespass into the Academy, how could the possessed student come back in?" Beaumonde questioned.

"An intelligent question", Mephisto replied amiably. "As you are no doubt aware, gentlemen, True Cross Academy in Japan educates a wider clientele  
than do most of its equivalents in other locations. Out of our currently 32 exorcists in training, eight are born of demon blood. In order for these  
students to attend school – and indeed, for myself to pass in and out through the gates – the barriers are modified to allow passage for beings of  
living human blood. Half-demons can pass through, and so can humans possessed by demons. It is a liability, but also a necessity."

"What you are saying is that demons possessing humans have free entrance to a building full of human children", Beaumonde pursued with stern  
voice. "How can you then guarantee the students' safety?"

The room shrank to the size of a sugar cube, every ear waiting expectantly to hear what the accused would say. Part of Shiro's mind argued that  
Mephisto was a shady character, that with so many warning signs it would be for the best if he were convicted: another part said _oh, come on,  
the guy reads love stories for teenage girls! _and wanted the weirdo to make it through in one piece. The thought that eventually won him over  
was a compromise: something huge was sealed inside the Academy, and Mephisto was keeping it sealed. Whatever his reasons, it would be very  
bad indeed if that seal broke.

"_You'd better be a good chess player, you clown…_"

"The barriers surrounding True Cross Academy are made from my power", Mephisto explained, fingers splayed over his chest, "and are thereby  
an extension of myself. Nothing can pass through without alerting me to it. If I sense an energy signature I do not recognize, I can immediately  
find and apprehend whatever is penetrating the academy."

"And this barrier of yours never falters?"

"Not unless I do."

"Even if a hundred possessed humans charged at it?"

"It can be strengthened to full defence with a snap of my fingers."

"If this barrier responds to your will, as you make it out, then could it also be made to keep out more than demons?"

"If I so desired."

A smirk crept up on Beaumonde's perfectly symmetrical lips.

"So it could be used to take thousands of children hostage with just the snap of your fingers. I do say, that gives greater authority than even the  
Grigori can exercise – to a demon. I turn to you all when I ask; is this reasonable? Do we trust this devil dressed in human flesh, that he would not  
use the lives of innocents to negotiate whatever he wants from us? Do we trust a traitor from the enemy's ranks, who can have us at his beck and  
call with a snap of his fingers? Or should we do our duty and apprehend him now, when he is out of his lair and the children are safe?"

"_I'll be…_" Shiro bit his tongue. If he'd been a True Cross Order executive, he would've taken the Paladin's word for it and had Mephisto locked up  
on the spot.

"If I may, sir judge~?" Mephisto's voice was a cool breeze through the heated buzz in the grand hall. "While slander has no place in Court, I do believe  
I have a right to address it. I am well aware that you question my loyalty. Every night I am the thorn in your side that keeps sleep from coming easily:  
and every night, I am the sentinel that keeps watch over the children of True Cross Academy." He made a sweeping gesture at himself. "Forty thousand  
nights and days, and more, have I been their guard. Thousands upon thousands of children have attended my school, and none have fallen victim to  
demons." He looked like a conductor directing an orchestra, addressing the left and right flanks of the balconies with flourishing movements. "I was  
appointed this position not by the Grigori or the executives of the Order, but by the Holy Father himself. I ask you all: would the supreme head of the  
Order of the True Cross, the man who carries out God's will on earth, have entrusted me this if he had doubted my intentions? Further, I ask of you:  
when you question my loyalty; do not add the empty weight of speculation to the scales, but the actual measure earned by a century and a half of  
flawless service." He took a small bow to the judge to indicate he was finished.

"_He's good. He's definitely good…_"

"Demons speak with silver tongue, they say." Beaumonde's harsh baritone broke the silence like a boot treading on the night-old ice on a water  
puddle. "But do not let his smooth talk fool you into forgetting that tongue is forked. Is a wolf that has not killed sheep no less a wolf? Is it not in  
its capacity, or even in its nature, to kill sheep? And is not the Vatican the shepherd appointed by God to lead and protect His flock? What shepherds  
are we, who leave the wolf to herd our lambs?"

"Gentlemen", Mephisto's voice chimed anew, filled with barely contained excitement. "The wise do not judge a book by its cover, nor a man by his  
ears. As for the Paladin's comparison, I would like to add that for hundreds of years, shepherds all over the world have valued their strong and loyal  
guardian dogs, which have been essential in protecting the herd from harm. Indeed, do not these noble animals stem from wolves accepted into the  
service of humans? And while they are still relatives of the wolf, do they not kill wolves for their masters?"

It says nothing of the fierceness of a battle that it is without swords. Sparks flew as word clashed with word, rhetoric sang the song of steel in the  
air, sentences circled each other like wary duellists. The interrogation had probably never been the main interest, neither for them nor for the  
assembled audience. At the centre of it all was the black sheep of the herd, and whether or not it would prove to be a wolf. The judge should have  
called for order long ago, but the same doubt writhed in his heart as in everybody else's: was Mephisto on their side, or was he not?

"Indeed, a tree shall be known by the fruit it brings forth: True Cross was established in Japan to battle the multitude of demons inhabiting the  
islands, but a compiled list of reports tells us that in fact, demonic activity has since then _increased._" Beaumonde paused to let the words take effect.  
"And the Japanese branch has been strangely passive. Nothing was done when the Impure King claimed lives by the thousands. Nothing was done  
at the rapid succession of earthquakes caused by Earth King Amaimon that followed. Only this year, the village of Yaonaru has been attacked by  
hordes of demons eight times; without receiving support more than twice. Branch chief Pheles; please explain."

"Certainly~ Japan had a rich tradition of Buddhist-school exorcism before True Cross was established there. Their teachings are more pragmatic,  
so to speak, concerning demons. Fukaku, the Buddhist monk who defeated the Impure King, was able to do so only by entering an agreement with  
a demon: this incident eventually prompted headquarters to permit the use of familiars to exorcists of True Cross Order. Concerning the King of  
Earth, I believe no exorcist, not even the honourable Paladin, could hold his own against a Prince of Gehenna. I sent men to aid in the evacuation  
from earthquake areas, but I would not send them to certain death in battle with Prince Amaimon. Lastly, the Yaonarus are themselves part of  
the Order, and have numbers fully sufficient to stave off an attack." He spread his hands. "I have proposed to take over guardianship of their  
artefact, which is what attracts demons to their estate, but they have continuously declined my offer."

"I believe you are avoiding the central question, Pheles", Beaumonde said, a vulture's expectation curling in his voice. "How is it that demonic  
activity has increased since you settled in Japan?"

"Everything has increased since I settled in Japan: population, industry, exploitation, expectation, demands, the pressure to confirm to tradition  
and norm. It would be more surprising if demonic activity _didn't _increase with such fertile soil for possession~" he answered easily.

"I am not talking about small fry possessing people. Two devastating earthquakes struck the very week you set foot in Japan, with confirmed  
presence of Prince Amaimon; shortly thereafter, the Impure King spread death over the land. Two lords of hell do not coincidentally turn up in  
the same place overnight."

"Of course not", Mephisto said in friendly tones. "That was the first time in many years I left Europe; the first time in many years I was not in a  
guarded stronghold. Treason is grave, even among demons, and not easily forgotten."

"You say they were an assassination squad, yet to this day you remain without a scratch. Is there anything to prove they were not a welcoming party?"

"It can be neither proved nor disproved: and as such, minds are left to speculation. Bear in mind what I said of speculation earlier, and remember  
that I chose mankind over my own brethren."

"You chose mankind, you say. Let me remind you all that to man alone did God give the mind to choose good or evil: demons He created to test  
and tempt mankind and separate the wheat from the chaff." He gestured at Mephisto on the stand. "By laws lain down before Creation, the creature  
posing as a man before you is a rotten tree, and can bear naught but rotten fruit. While he bides his time – for time he has plenty – lulling us into  
believing we are safe, he is by birth a liar, a scourge, a tempter, and a threat to the Order."

"Order!" Timothée's voice cracked like a whip in the speakers, jolting through the heated buzz from the audience. "Beaumonde, this is no place for  
personal grudge! Pheles, you may step down. There will be an intermission for the Grigori to convene and discuss."

-

"How are we doing?" Shiro asked, eyeing the taut faces on the balconies.

"We're only mid-game yet, Shiro-kun: anything can happen~"

"Beaumonde's rhetoric isn't that sharp, but he knows his facts", Haruhatsu observed gravely. "And he has driven home a few points. There is no way  
of proving him wrong or right in his statements on demon activity, and that's the danger of it: it leaves the Grigori to judge for themselves. I don't  
think they will judge in your favour, Sir Pheles."

-

"I call the eyewitness to the possession, Shiro Fujimoto, to take the stand."

Haruhatsu accompanied Shiro up. Getting a good look at the robed Grigori, which reminded him of boiled eggs, he had to give Mephisto a point for  
his observations on Vatican fashion sense.

"Shiro Fujimoto. Will you describe what transpired at the possession you witnessed?"

"It was just after class, and my friend got upset. He's a very calm guy, normally, so I thought it was strange that he got so worked up about nothing.  
Then he grabbed me and shoved me into the wall, and then Sir Pheles showed up."

"Were you injured before he did?" Beaumonde asked. He didn't look as murderous as he had before the intermission, but there is quite a range of  
moods between murderous and friendly.

"I don't think so. Bumped my head, but I was quite perky afterwards", he smiled, thinking back on how he'd tried to punch Mephisto. Wonder  
what Court would say about that…

"How did Pheles handle the situation?" Timothée resumed.

"Well…" Probably not the right environment, but it only took a moment to decide he didn't give a damn. Haruhatsu would probably translate with  
more suitable words anyway. "He scared the crap out of the demon and immobilized it. Then he instructed me how to exorcise it, and I did."

"Are you indebted to Pheles in any way that might lead you to bear false testimony?" Beaumonde asked. He wasn't looking at Shiro, but gauged  
Mephisto's reaction with intent eyes. Not good. Not good at all.

"No", he answered, wary of what would come next.

"Is that true? I have a list of transactions here, saying that he purchased a male school uniform, size 48, for 46 886 yen. Is that the uniform you  
are wearing?"

So that was his trump card? Shiro felt himself smiling at least as wide as Mephisto must be smiling. Aiming for the fowl and shooting himself in the  
foot…

"Yes."

"Sir judge, I believe nobody can deny that this renders the witness' testimony unreliable. Furthermore, bribery of this kind-"

"Can I add something, sir judge?" Shiro was given the word. "Sir Pheles didn't give the uniform to me. I won it on a bet."

"What kind of bet was that?" Timothée asked.

"You see, we're both quite good at arcade games", Shiro grinned. "So I wagered that if I could beat him at a game, he would pay for my new uniform."

"You want me to translate that…?" Haruhatsu asked, looking more than a little unsure of what Shiro was saying.

"Yeah. It's the truth."

The translation brought on a murmur of surprise and confusion in the hall – not to mention Beaumonde looked like he'd been hit in the face with a  
dead fish.

"And if Pheles had won, what did you pledge to give him?" Shiro could well imagine what kind of wager the Paladin was hoping for, but the victorious  
glint in his eyes had faded.

"He demanded I'd give up smoking", he replied cheerfully.

This time around, there was even muffled laughter among the murmurs.

"Why would he accept a wager like that?" the Paladin asked, shooting furious glares at Mephisto.

"Try lighting a cigarette within ten yards of him. It's quite funny", he said in casual tones, feeling where the interrogation was going and giving it  
a helpful push down the slope. Telling the truth: nothing more, nothing less. "_Was this what you intended, Mephisto…?_" Had he…? No, impossible.  
The summons for a witness came from the Vatican, and the possession had occurred after their game duel: there was no way he could have planned  
this...

"Sir judge, corrupting children to betting and gambling is hardly appropriate for-"

"Oi, if you'd excuse?" This would be the end of it, for sure… "Just to get facts straight here, _I _proposed the bet. Not Pheles. If you wanna charge me  
with inappropriate corruption of demon I'm okay with that."

"I will translate that, but it's on you", Haruhatsu informed, fighting to keep his face straight.

The grand hall turned into a Roman-era coliseum, accusations and laughter erupting from different sections of the walls.

-

The Grigori deemed that no conclusive evidence could be presented against Mephisto, and therefore freed him of suspicion. The Paladin was  
reprimanded heavily for bringing up personal grudge at court; Shiro was admonished that gambling is immoral and not something the Order  
approved of; Mephisto received a warning for encouraging said behaviour among students.

"Good audience, good show~" Mephisto was happy as a kid on a summer fair when they made their way out. "Ah, what a delightful Christmas  
this is~"

Just before the exit, the Lion appeared from nowhere. Shiro, who had always prided himself on his reflexes, had no time to react when the mountain  
of a man seized Mephisto by the cravat and crushed him against the wall. He was almost as tall as the demon, and at least four times his girth. He  
looked like he could break him like a twig. Shiro didn't speak Italian, but there was no mistaking the message in the Paladin's voice.

Haruhatsu looked nervously from one to the other.

"Go on, translate for him~" Mephisto said in pleasant tones, meeting the Paladin's death glare unfazed.

The Paladin bristled where he stood. For him to be made to wait, to be dismissed as so harmless, so unimportant – to be so utterly humiliated by  
a demon…

"You may drip your venom in the ears of the Grigori, and you may have all the world fooled, but you will never fool me. Your words are as empty  
as your soul. Mankind ill needs a sentinel like you: you are a serpent, a cancer in the body of the church, and one day I will send your pointy-  
eared head back to the master you truly serve, imp."

Mephisto's gloved fingers helpfully untangled the chain of the Paladin's exorcist badge, which had snagged on a button in the man's uniform.

"Nineteen Paladins have made me that promise." One moment the Paladin was holding him against the wall, and in the next Mephisto was standing  
with his hand on the door handle. "Now, if you'd excuse, we need to be on our way~"

If glares could kill...

**A/N: And the only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it... (Wilde) A few famous lines from Richter Belmont for the Paladin. ^_^'**

**Background info! (which I think is cool, and for this chapter I do suggest you read it to really get what they're arguing about)  
**

**The core incident Beaumonde accuses Mephisto of "letting slip" is the Impure King's first appearance, 150 years ago from 2008 (= 1858. Actually, I found a third mention that supports my timeline: when Saburota Todo stands soliloquizing in the sanctum of the Myou Dha  
temple, he mentions that the Impure King was defeated in the fifth year of the Ansei period. Ansei began 1854, and the fifth year is  
then 1858). That's the year he was finally defeated, so he will have been around a couple of years before that (Fukaku fought him on  
numerous occasions without being able to defeat him).**

**On December 23rd and 24th 1854 (when I will pretend Mephisto landed in Japan), two earthquakes struck Japan and killed more than  
10 000 people.**

**The Impure King follows in between 1854 and 1859 , and kills 40 000; then come periods in time where earthquakes occur with only  
three or four year-intervals.**

**Now, if you compare with records from before 1854 (which are of course lacking since the seismograph wasn't invented), the previous  
earthquake was in 1792. Overall in earlier history, you see an average 50 years or so between earthquakes. After 1854, earthquakes  
occurred in Japan in 1855, 1858, 1889, 1891, 1894, 1896, 1923, 1927, 1930, 1933, 1936... because Amaimon likes to visit his  
favorite brother...?**

**0w0**


	30. 30: Merry Christmas

**A/N: Gods forgive me, a chapter without plot elements... =X Essentially, I just imagined them taking the day off after the audition:  
some casual talk and a bit of unexpected trouble... and a reference that should be quite easy to spot and very easy to understand. =P  
And one veeery tiny quote from Ragna the Bloodedge, who is right now the cutest thing around (sharing the spot with Deida's Gabriel  
in Castlevania: Dreams of the Heart). Call it a Christmas special if you like, it was +27 C when I wrote it...**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

The Midnight Mass was an annual event on Christmas Eve in St Peter's basilica. The sermon itself wasn't that interesting, as it was held in Latin,  
but as architecture went, it was amazing. The inside was bigger than the grand hall of the Court, bigger than the entrance hall at True Cross  
Academy, and, frankly, bigger than anything Shiro had seen. One didn't have to be religious to gape in awe at the vivid art of Bernini and  
Michelangelo, or marvel at how tiny a 20 meter high baldachin looks beneath the highest dome in the world. And no matter the wonders contained  
in the basilica, it was Mephisto that stole the show. Completely. He looked like a cat in a bathtub, or a dog with an Elizabethan collar: but most of  
all, he looked like a demon in a church. Shiro wished he could go to Midnight Mass every year.

"Don't think I didn't see you laughing", he muttered as the throng of people slowly made its way out after the sermon.

"Not denying it", Shiro replied, still grinning. "Wish I'd had a camera, though."

"If you want a picture of me for your desk all you have to do is ask~"

"Pervert."

"Mind that uncouth mouth of yours – remember where we are, Shiro-pon." He glanced up at the gilded ceiling, and the myriads of sculptures  
populating the pillar crowns. "Much can be said about Catholics, but their sense of architecture isn't all that bad. If it was for sale I would buy it."

"I bet you would. Some pink drapes on the baldachin and you'd have the world's fanciest four-poster bed."*

"And sleep atop the grave of the founder of Catholicism?" he snickered. "What a blasphemer you are~"

"Don't try to tell me you haven't thought about it", he said with a knowing look.

"Who am I to tell lies in the house of the Lord~? I have considered it. I've also considered walling off one of the lateral arcades for a walk-in wardrobe  
and the other for a game arcade."

They poured out into Saint Peter's Square under the watchful eyes of the saints on the colonnades. Greeted by light rain, Mephisto snapped up his  
hideous umbrella. Shiro honestly didn't mind the weather. That said, he was a bit disappointed.

"I thought it would snow", he confessed, watching more umbrellas bloom in the square. "And that there would be Christmas trees and all that."

"In Northern Europe, yes, where heathendom has always had stronger support. Italy was tamed by Christianity a long time ago."

"But they still give gifts and such here?" he asked in what he hoped was a casual manner. He wasn't sure what kind of traditions demons had for  
Christmas, he'd acted entirely on a whim…

"They do, but not until January 6th."

"Well, screw that, I'm not Italian. Merry Christmas." Shiro held out the thin, square present. It looked a mess, wrapped in newspaper and tied with  
black and yellow tape that said _restare fuori_, conveniently lifted off a stolen car the police had inspected and left in a street corner.

"Eh?"

"Haruhatsu showed me the Christmas market in Pizza Nabona** while you were at the meeting", he said, enjoying Mephisto's bewildered look. "I  
couldn't resist getting it."

An elegant way of saying it wasn't so much bought as accidentally slipped in under his jacket while Haruhatsu and the stand owner wasn't looking.  
It was debatable how much Christmas spirit there was in a gift like that, but it was equally debatable how much Christmas spirit there was in Mephisto.

"Next time the Court will accuse me of accepting bribes from my students…" he smiled crookedly.

"You saying you'll let me pass easier?"

"No."

Shiro laughed under his breath when Mephisto initiated the classic procedure of testing the present's weight, shaking it, and in every other way trying  
to determine what was in it. Really, a prince of Gehenna…

"Shouldn't it come with a rhyme?"

"Come again?"

"Christmas presents have rhymes, don't they? Not that I would know, I've never gotten one." His brow knitted at the faint rattling noise when he  
shook the parcel. "Not chocolate, then…"

"…it's nothing you can eat, though some might have tried, but if I had seen it, I'd laugh till I cried. There you go: a rhyme."

"Aren't rhymes supposed to make it _easier _to guess?"

"You're not going easy on my grades, I'm not going easy on your rhymes…"

When they got back to the hotel, Shiro saw their room for the first time. It didn't hold a candle to Mephisto's usual standard, but it was a suite. A  
single-bed suite. With little delay, Shiro was left to ponder the various possible reasons and consequences for this while Mephisto had a word with  
the receptionist. He returned with a very… interesting… look.

"Fully booked over Christmas, like every other hotel in town, no possibility of switching room…!" He handed Shiro a paper the latter couldn't read,  
and pointed to the signatures at the bottom. "How would you read this?"

"Um…" Read? Was it even Latin letters? All he saw was swirls and hoops… "Johann Faust the fifth, I assume?"

"Certain vacation stand-ins in the reception also _assumed_", Mephisto fumed indignantly. "They read _Johanna _Faust and assumed we were an  
adulterous couple spending the holiday away from our respective spouses." He tossed the paper on the table next to the Christmas present and  
pinched the acupressure points on each side of the base of his nose. "Of all incompetent…! I can't believe it, how could they take me for a woman?  
I have a beard!"

"_And pink, high-heeled boots._" Shiro blamed his tiredness for giggling. "_And women's clothes…_"

Possible replies piled up sky-high in a matter of seconds, effectively jamming the speech centre in Shiro's brain. Mephisto glared daggers at him  
where he writhed with laughter on the bed.

Shiro's fun eventually ended, as thoughts extended beyond the speech centre and short-circuited his cerebral functions entirely: shameless flirting  
with Moriyama-san aside, there were indications that Mephisto's romantic interests might include… men. And they had just been given a suite with  
only one bed.

Wasn't he ever going to sleep? Mephisto's umbrella somehow doubled as a table lamp, and he had been reading by it for the past hour and a half.  
Shiro had already brushed his teeth, showered and brushed his teeth again, doing everything he could think of to delay the moment of going to sleep.  
It wasn't that he had anything against homosexuals. Really, he didn't even know if Mephisto was… gay. Or something else. He was, however, a demon;  
and he enjoyed jokes at Shiro's expense. That alone was enough to justify precaution.

"This is a non-smoking suite", Mephisto pointed out the moment Shiro flicked his lighter. "That means you don't get to poison me with those."

"This is a balcony", he returned through the glass-paned double doors. "That means I'm not in the suite."

"The room description says suite with balcony: that means the balcony is part of the suite."

"I can't read Italian: try arguing around that." He blew smoke out over the city, its buildings and islands huddling together in a rather dark and  
rather raw, damp night. It had stopped raining but the sky was still clouded, lit from beneath by the starlight of thousands of street lamps and  
shop windows. "_It's amazing, really_", he smiled dimly, the cool air the only thing keeping him awake. "_I was in Japan this morning, and now I'm  
in Italy. Tomorrow I'll go back to Japan again. Even if it isn't magic, it's as easy as snapping one's fingers..._"

He went in only when his toes were freezing and he'd burnt himself twice on the cigarette glow. And the bastard was still reading.

"Aren't you going to bed?" Shiro asked, almost cross-eyed with fatigue.

"I don't sleep much. Neither do you, from the looks of it", he added, one glance enough to tell that if Shiro didn't lie down soon, he'd nod off standing  
and get himself a minor concussion.

"Like I could sleep when I know you're up and watching me."

"Hm? Why would I be watching you?"

Really… when his eyebrows went up like that, and his ears down… he kinda resembled a goat…

"You're a dirty-minded old man", he declared in tones that indicated Mephisto should already be aware of that.

"And you would be more comfortable with me going to bed with you than me staying up while you sleep…?" he returned, facial expression unchanging.

No, that wasn't what…! Well, on second thought, that _was _what he'd said… indirectly, sort of… without meaning to…

"…it made more sense when I was just thinking it", Shiro groaned, rubbing his smarting eyelids as Mephisto snickered at him. Well, wasn't this going  
just dandy?

"I believe it's safe to say that none of what you think makes sense right now, Shiro-kun~ What you fear is merely the shadow of your own  
uncertainty, rejected by your mind and given shape outside it to make the perceived threat tangible and thereby manageable. Freud had similar  
theories, though you probably don't want to hear them… Rest assured, a gentleman such as I would never take advantage of a situation like this."  
The smile he sent Shiro over the pages belied everything he had just said. "But since you don't seem inclined to take my word for it, consider that  
we are virtually within earshot from Vatican headquarters. Beaumonde would sell his soul for a chance to bring me before Court on charges for – ah,  
what do they call it? – 'sinful and unnatural conduct'."

"Hadn't thought about that." Shiro scratched his messy hair, feeling more relieved than he'd thought. "Would those charges be very bad?"

Mephisto spent a fair while eyeing him, as if considering something. Probably how to best reply to make him uncomfortable.

"Not for a human. Excommunication is the standard verdict; however, in my case that would mean exclusion from the Order, and then I would be  
fair game to hunt. Now, can you sleep, or should I read you a bedtime story?"

"Like hell I'd want bedtime stories from you. …though, could you close your eyes or look away or something?"

"Why not change in the bathroom, if you're so irresistible I would jump you on sight~?"

"Stuff it, will you?" he grumbled, very close to giving the finger to the wickedly grinning face. "I don't have any pyjamas to change into, otherwise  
I wouldn't ask you to look away."

Mephisto had bulletproof arguments for not getting up to anything, but that mischievous smile he'd… no, strike that; flirtatious smile… oh, let's  
be honest; that _seductive _smile he'd flashed spoke of anything but innocent intentions.

Shiro then realized he had forgotten the first thing about demons: they are pranksters, and they are curious. Hide something from them and they  
will tear down the house to find it, even if it's just a meaningless trinket. It is the secret, not the object itself, that tempts curiosity. By making  
such fuzz over undressing, he had unintentionally baited Mephisto into trying _anything _to get him undressed just for the hell of it.

"_Good job, self. 'Thinking doesn't go well in you, Shiro-kun'. Next time you're tired, just go to sleep on the spot. Don't think, don't talk: don't  
even try to._" He started unbuttoning his shirt, disengaging the bomb he'd activated. "You know what? Just forget about it. I'll go sleep. You keep  
reading." Give the clown what he's after and save yourself much trouble – though, really, the trouble was his own fault in the first place. "G'nite."

He took off his glasses first; that way he wouldn't see if Mephisto's eyes were on the magazine or on him. Shirt and trousers followed, until he  
wore nothing but underwear.

"Not bad~" The mere tone was enough to make Shiro's cheeks burn with embarrassment as he dove in under the bedcovers. "Allow a few years  
to ripen that body and the ladies will be all over you."

"Shut it, or I'll bring you to Court for verbal abuse..." he mumbled, turning on the side and letting his concrete head sink blissfully into the pillow.

"Gute Nacht, scheues Veilchen", the demon chuckled.

**A/N: Some almost-fluff (more like bickering, though...) dedicated to all my lovely reviewers. =^w^= Can't say how much your  
support means to me! Now I'm probably not going to write for a while, so Mephisto will have to ask you for help: what has Shiro  
given him for Christmas? ;P There is a correct answer, and it's not overly difficult to figure out, but I'm hoping for many great  
suggestions.**

*** My first thought when I was in Rome and saw it. "Damn, that would make one hell of a four-poster bed..." x'3 I tried staying for  
a sermon, not in St Peter's but a smaller church, but they made me leave since I'm not Catholic... So I don't actually know what  
the mass would be like. But you probably don't care, yeah? :P**

**** Er, Shiro probably isn't all that good with Italian place names, but that's Piazza Navona. And they do hold a Christmas market  
there.**


	31. 31: New problems and old ones

**A/N: There ye go. *puts stack of papers on desk* The next batch of chapters, written on time I should've spent studying... So you  
better appreciate it. ;P**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Vacation: the most beautiful word in the world. The visit to Rome may not have been vacation in the real sense, but it had provided Shiro what  
he needed to tackle the next semester: sleep and laughs. While he had slept on the flight back to Japan, Mephisto had tried his Christmas present.  
Shiro had been the only object on the plane to draw, but did on the other hand provide excellent opportunity to use the yellow crayon in the set.

Mephisto's artwork, Shiro concluded, was a metaphor for life itself: it may look miserable to the sober eye, but the more tired you were, the more  
hilarious it got. The portrait offered a wide range of interpretations when turned in different angles, such as The Surprised Rocket Fish, The Albino  
Sikh With Sunglasses, or Shiro's favourite: The Cyclopean Octopus In Bikini-top.* Fishing out that slip of paper from _Comprehensive Demonology  
_was the quickest ticket to a better mood after a hellish school day.

If school was hell, then his dorm room was his very own, personal torture chamber. To think that relations with Kita would improve was laughable,  
but to think that it would get worse…

"_It's all your fault, you old goat…_"

Over the holiday, Kita had gone from arrogant douche-bag to paranoid conspiracy theorist, and the only reason Shiro hadn't beaten his brains  
out was that he needed that brain to spill it contents in a more metaphorical sense.

"Have you talked to Sir Pheles?" Kita asked the moment he stepped in, not looking up from his course books.

"No, I haven't", he replied in a tone that would get the message through to anything with ears, be that a human or a hamster.

"Has he shared any information from headquarters with you?"

"No."

"Has he promised, hinted at, or in any other way suggested what post he might consider you for?"

"No."

"Has he offered to promote you if you pursue-"

"Do you miss your crutches, Kita-san?" Shiro growled, dropping his satchel by his own desk. "'cause I can promise, hint at, and in any other  
fucking way you like suggest that I will get you back on them if you don't shut up. I'm not interested in some fancy position with the Vatican,  
and I'm not sucking up to Pheles for a promotion in Japan. I was called to Court as a damn _witness_; that's it."

Kita had learnt of the audition through relatives in headquarters and locked on to Shiro like a damned homing missile, determined to torpedo  
any attempt he might make to surpass him. Competitive didn't even come close: fanatical did. Kita was born and bred to be not just an exorcist,  
but the best exorcist – as were all the Yaonaru children.

"Come again?" He usually paid as little attention to Kita as he could, but somehow subconsciously sensed that he had been insulted.

"I said you're hardly going to become an exorcist at all if you _don't _look for Sir Pheles to promote you", he said dryly, with just the tiniest hint  
of a leer powdered over his words. "You're three years older than the rest of us. When you graduate this summer you will no longer have the  
orphan support fund to pay your tuition, and you don't have anyone else to pay for you. Nor can you take a job with the schedule you have."  
It's a cool thing to be able to write and speak simultaneously, and that made Shiro dislike Kita even more. Dicks shouldn't be entitled to coolness.  
"It's evident that you're desperate. Five Meisters? It will surely get you attention from above, but it won't get you a scholarship unless you  
show proficiency in all of them. Which you don't. The only sensible thing to do is step down, Meister in one or two, and get a side job. Preferably  
not something too intellectually demanding."

"I already have a plan that will pay my education. I'll ask the other students how much they'd pay to get rid of you, then I'll bury you in the  
forest. Two birds with one stone." He threw in a smile for good measure. That snotty little brat had even made his relatives dig up documents  
about his past? He was so asking for it… "Not too intellectually demanding, either."

"I don't know if the dullness or the tastelessness is the worse aspect of your so-called jokes."

"If I wanted to make you smile I'd nail gun the corners of your lips to your cheekbones, asshat."

Kita's only response was turning the volume up on Mozart. Fine. Shiro took the excuse to take his books and leave. He considered the kitchen,  
but there were no good reading lights there. He shuffled out in the common room, left his books on a table and turned on the tv. It turned out  
the real reason Mephisto had pushed for flying back to Japan so quick was that the last episode of _La Seine no Hoshi_ had aired the 26th. This  
year, the Great Otaku Guru prophesized, would be a year of robots.

As if heeding Mephisto's predictions, the tv buzzed and showed a giant robot saving the world with a banana through its head. Shiro tried  
watching, but robots… no. Just ridiculous. Especially when they had huge, blue-arrowed jockstraps.**

Shiro sighed. He hadn't meant for fall for Kita's taunt, but it's difficult to ignore a bruise when some jerk grates his thumb against it. He had  
always known the funds would be closed to him once he graduated. It had been as certain as the sun rising in the east, and therefore he'd  
never worried about it. He'd never intended to go to college; there had never been any _need _to worry. Until recently. His hopes of catching  
the saboteurs quickly were dying slowly as a starving animal, and if he didn't catch them this semester he had no idea how he would stay in  
school for the next.

He really ought to try and get under Kita's skin instead of telling him off. He was one of the main suspects, what with his wide connections,  
influence, motives, and freaky obsession with being better than anyone else. Really, Shiro should've bit back his temper and asked the nosy  
bastard for advice on how to get his school fees together. It was a strategically smart baiting-the-enemy-into-the-ambush kind of thing to do;  
it was the _only_smart thing to do. Naturally, he hadn't done it.

"_I'm an asshole and an idiot_", he sighed inwardly, running a hand through his hair. "_Great._"

His plan to get on Agari's good side had fallen out even worse. Hell, he knew how important it was to get these people to talk: why couldn't he  
deceive them? He didn't even like them, there was no bad conscience in sight to- Oh. Of course. That was the problem: he didn't like them.

Shiro had a paradoxal relation to truth. He could lie, and did so often: he could steal, he could hurt people, and he didn't bat an eye. He was an  
asshole and he was honest about that. It was when lie became life… pretending to be something else… presenting the world a façade… That was  
a lie he could never abide, and the reason he couldn't play friend of somebody he loathed.

-

"Ye really got the time te slack?" Shiro woke with a start, not realizing he'd fallen asleep. "If so, can I get a hand?"

"With what?" He looked up at Shizuku, whose tanned traveller's arms were resting on the couch backrest.

"Ryuuji-san."

"No", he groaned.

"Yep, still thinks Agari-chan will somehow grow a heart. I dunno what ta do."

"I'm open for switching roommates any day."

Shizuku's face brightened.

"Think we can get Ryuuji-san and Kita-san ta take one room and we the other?"

"Hell no, I want Ryuuji-san." Shiro shot him a meaningful glance. "You've got three extra holes in your nose and you still snore like a pig."

"Ye place me in the same room as Kita-san and ye'll havta help me bury the body", Shizuku deadpanned.

"With a smile on my lips." He sighed. "Do you really need _me _to tell Ryuuji-san he's out of his mind? Doesn't he listen to you?"

"Well, 'e listens", Shizuku's metal-studded lips actually jingled slightly when he smiled, "but 'e doesn't understand what I say. Honestly, he told  
me teday. He's not quiet 'cause 'e's shy – or at least it's not the only reason – but 'cause 'e doesn't understand my dialect."

"Be grateful", Shiro said, reluctant to leave the couch. "People understand what I say and I always get smacked."

"'cause yer an idiot."

"Why does everybody keep saying that?"

His most severe screw-ups didn't have an audience, after all… Shizuku cocked his head with a smirk that was almost, but not entirely, as annoying  
as Mephisto's.

"Same reason we keep tellin' Ryuuji-san ta give up on Agari-chan: people can't see their own faults unless ye hold up a mirror for 'em. Ye coming?"

"Do I have to…?"

"When I left 'im he was selecting a ballad ta play beneath her window."

Shiro face-palmed and muttered something into his wrist.

-

"You locked him up?" Shiro blurt incredulously, seeing Shizuku fish out a key to the room he shared with Ryuuji. "Like some princess in an  
old fairy tale?"***

"Not the metaphor I woulda' used, but sure. You've been too tired ta pay attention lately, but he's _really _gone crazy over Agari-chan." He  
gave Shiro a meningful glance when he turned the key. "Not batshit-crazy, but crazy enough. Oi, Ryuu- oh yer kidding me…"

The curtains flapped a longing farewell to the missing princess, and bashful flakes of snow trailed in through the open window, melting into  
perfect droplets on the desk.

-

"You might wanna know", Shiro said, hoping against hope that Ryuuji hadn't been gone long enough to reach the girls' dorm and butcher his  
dignity, "that Agari-chan was orphaned by a half-demon."

"Oh. Of course she was. And of course our half-demon has ta fall in love with 'er." Glancing up at the cloudy sky, he crossed his arms over  
his coat and added: "Well, the spirit grows through winters and shares its fruit in summers…"

"Will I sound smarter if I go around saying things like that?"

"Think ye might get smarter if ye listen?" He shook his head like a dog to get rid of melt-water. "You have a lot a' growing to do before ye  
can bear any fruits."

"Are you calling me short again…?" he glowered up at Shizuku. He knew very well what the monk meant, but he was in the mood for a  
little bickering.

"I've heard Agari-chan's taller than you", he smirked.

Now that_ hurt_. Shiro hadn't paid much attention to _those _measurements, but she could definitely be… Fumbling to come up with someone  
shorter than he, who wasn't a girl, he returned:

"Saburota-senpai is shorter than me."

"Shorter than _I_."

"And you feel you have any right to correct grammar, when people can't even understand what you're saying?"

"It's not much, but it makes the things comin' outta yer mouth sound a little less stupid", he shrugged, unsuccessfully dodging Shiro's elbow.  
"Easy, shorty; save ye' strength fer dragging Romeo back", he smiled. Neither of them knew which window was Agari's, but they had footprints  
to follow. Even if it wasn't past midnight yet, it was pitch black around the white dandelion globes that were the street lamps. "Saburota-senpai,  
ye say? Name sounds familiar, somehow…"

"Todo Saburota."

"Oh, yeah: the third Todo. Honestly, the only difference between those brothers is the white streaks in the hair." He chewed absentmindedly  
on a piercing. "I always imagined it was like a bar-code, so the parents would recognize who's who when they plug 'em in the electricity output  
ta recharge."

"Well, they can't be actual robots anyway. They don't have bananas through their heads." Shiro sketched a pair of horns – or, by all means, the  
ends of a banana – on his head.

"Bana…? Grendizer!" His loud, booming laughter bounced jarringly off the dorm building walls – strange enough, not the building where  
Shiro and Midori had apologized to Agari. This was the building where Midori and Sen lived. "Haha, that's rich! Haaaa, that'd be something ta  
see on a Todo…"

"I imagine Saburota-senpai would be something like this." Shiro put on Saburota's serious deadpan, tilted his head slightly forward and pushed  
his glasses up.

"Something like that, yeah", Shizuku chuckled, mist steaming around his face. "Good ta hear yer talking ta people without getting clouted, but  
I wouldn't have guessed you'd hang out with that kinda guy."

"Had to, I had an errand to the supply shop but I don't have a key. Man, I didn't know people like him existed. They're a lot like the Yaonarus,  
aren't they?"

"I wouldn't lump 'em together like that. Especially not if I was sharing room with either o' them", he said with a meaningful look. "The Todos are  
okay people; we even stayed a few nights at their place from time ta time, my family. Basically they're devoted ta doing a good job – a little too  
devoted, alright, but they're good people. The Yaonarus are just big assholes: the kind ye can shove a pine down ta the roots into and it won't  
even tickle." Shiro burst into roaring laughing fits, supporting himself on the shoulder of a helplessly chuckling Shizuku. "My oldest sister used  
ta say that about people she didn't like."****

"_Sister_? Oh I wanna meet her, she sounds amazing!"

"She is. She's promised ta drop by for my birthday, ye can see her then."

"Is she hot?" he asked with a wolfish grin.

"I'd like te see ye pull ye' charm act on her, Shiro-san", he chuckled. "She'll eat ye whole an' spit out the bones. The Yaonarus act like they're  
some kinda feudal lords among exorcists, but they don't dare bitch with Kasumi nee-chan." He scratched his nose, peeling freezing condense  
from the piercings. "Makes sense they're keeping that artefact – it's not their style te ask fer help or hand it over." He chuckled to himself.  
"Hell, if they handed it over it'd be guarded by the Todos in Deep Keep. No way their honour could survive that."

"So True Cross has offered to take care of it?" Well, he knew that already: but Shizuku hadn't been at the audition, and he still knew that  
Mephisto had proposed to guard it? He might not be from an influential family, but he had been just about everywhere and made contacts  
along the way.

"It's the safest place in Japan: lotsa shrines an' others have given over their artefacts ta Deep Keep." He blew into his hands, rubbing them  
together for warmth. "Many o' the places I visited with dad an' my sisters only had the altar left, no honzon. It's a bit awkward ta pray in an  
empty shrine, but people are safer that way."

"You only have sisters?"

"Yeah, three. One still kickin'. They practically raised me. Taught me proper manners", he grinned at Shiro's concentrated scowl.

"…dude, I can't even picture that." He shook his head. "All I'm seeing is three pierced gorillas adopting a baby left in the woods."

Shizuku smacked him over the head.

"Sounds like what I see when I picture yer brothers. What are they like, Shiro-san?***** All as short as you?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? I don't have any brothers: my folks had three miscarriages before I was born, is all."

"Yeah, it was a lot like that, after the bombs. …could explain why yer so stupid, now that I think about it", he grinned.

"You're so getting whacked next time we have bokken practice."

"By someone who can't tell the grip from the blade?"

"Oi, it's a _wooden _sword, and I was _tired_, and it's not like it even _has _a blade…!"

**A/N: ...yeah, this might seem a li'l dull, but I'm positioning Chekhov's artillery as I go. There will come a chapter when you think  
back on this and go "oh, so THAT'S how...!" Well, if you're with me that long. ^_^' (Please keep reading. Please...?)**

* Some useless trivia: I sketched Mephisto's drawing with my left hand (= more authentic x) ), turned it this way and that and tried  
to see what I'd made. The Cyclopean Octopus in Bikini-top is awesome.  
** Seriously, have you seen Grendizer...? All I see is a banana...  
*** Nobody caught that, probably, but it's in reference to Rin's "Princess Ryuuji" when they almost get themselves killed fighting  
the Impure King. =P  
**** Actually, I'm the one who says that. =3 *pretty foul-mouthed in real life too, yes* Just a different version of it...  
***** Shiro is a name usually given to fourth sons. Shiro doesn't use the kanji for that, but the pronunciation would be the same,  
**so Shizuku assumes ****he has three brothers. On that note, Saburota is named as third son, which makes sense in his case. And the  
bombs he's talking about is the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of course. Shiro was born 12 years after WWII ended.**

I should develop a better system for footnotes, shouldn't I? Yes. Yes I should. I want the subscript/superscript option in my toolbar... T_T  



	32. 32: Blind in the dark

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

In Ryuuji's defence, he actually could sing. Inquisitive faces already peered out from several windows, hoping to be the one sung to: Shiro  
considered for a moment to learn to play some instrument, but laughed quietly at himself. As if he would find the time to learn an instrument…  
Pity, though. It seemed to draw women like honey draws wasps. With any other girl Ryuuji's ridiculous plan might have worked, but this wasn't  
any other girl.

Shiro wasn't worried he would come to any physical harm. If Agari so much as laid a finger on a half-blood student again she'd be out of school  
forever, but there's a lot of harm one can do without physical means. Ryuuji was a handful when he was floating on pink clouds, but he wouldn't  
be easier if the clouds suddenly dumped him in a winter lake.

"Oi, Ryuuji-san! Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Still singing and plucking the lone string of the ichigenkin,* Ryuuji met his eyes and shook his head.

"Look, I don't think you're Agari-chan's type: I think you're making an ass of yourself in front of half the girls' dorm, and I think you should bail  
as quick as you can."

"But she hasn't come out yet", he said between verses.

"Are you serious? Remember what she did to Midori-chan? She doesn't like half-demons", he pressed, getting the impression he was speaking  
to a deaf, soundproofed, and entirely uninterested wall.

"Shiro-san's right, man. Agari-chan's parents were killed by a half-demon. Why would she wanna _date _a half-demon after that?"

"Love will always bring an end to hate, Shizuku-san. Doesn't your Buddha say so?" he said, never ceasing to play.

Shiro exchanged glances of sympathy with Shizuku.

"Well, she's obviously not in: every girl in the dorm is hanging out the windows except Agari-chan. Think you can come back and try some other time?"

"No, that's perfect: I'll play until she comes back, and then they can tell her I've been waiting for her all the time." There was not a single thought  
in his eyes. Only love. Blind, stupid, doomed love.

Shiro's eyebrow twitched.

"Like hell you will!" he flared, snatching the ichigenkin. He was _not_ wasting his time with some lovesick idiot: he had a bunch of homework to  
do, people to spy on, money to worry about, and a principal to be wary of.

"Hey, give that back!"

Ryuuji could very well wrestle Shiro down and take the instrument, but he'd been out in the cold for a while and stumbled over his numb feet.  
Good. Because if Shiro got into a physical fight at this point, he would hold back nothing.

"No. Listen, Ryuuji-san, and don't you fucking dare interrupt me or I'll ram this whole thing up your ass." He wondered briefly if he would be  
able to realise that threat, but nothing could keep him from trying. "Agari-chan would gut you, skin you, stuff you and sell you to a restaurant if  
she were allowed.** And I'm being realistic here. She hates demons, and she hates half-demons; you may be the least demonic half-demon on  
the planet, but you are a half-demon, and she'd sooner carve her face off with a spoon than date you. Do you understand what I'm saying? …and  
yes, you're allowed to talk now."

"I understand", he whispered. For someone his size, he could look very small. "Can I have my ichigenkin back? In m- my hands?"

God, he was pitiful. It hurt almost physically to look at him, and for a moment Shiro wavered. But he kept his cool. The two half-demons he knew  
were different as night and day, save for one thing: that weird way they could affect one's feelings towards them. He hadn't seen it mentioned in  
any books, but he was sure they could. Maybe intentionally, maybe not. It was too subtle to be noticeable, normally, but when such diverse  
feelings as pissedness and pity clashed it could definitely be sensed.

"You'll get it back at the dorm." Bending somewhat to the rarely heard humane voice in the back of his head, he added: "You need to get in,  
your lips are turning blue."

Ryuuji wasn't in the best of moods. It was hard to describe. It was a bit of a sulk, but with darker undertones. It was intent, glowering blame  
and hapless, helpless bewilderment. It was quite entertaining, really.

"That was interesting", Shizuku mused aloud to himself. "I think ye might be the most unfriendly person I've met in my fifteen years of travelling  
'cross Japan."

"Whatever gets the job done", Shiro shrugged, a little surprised but entirely at peace with that rank. "Think I could get a diploma for that?  
'Unfriendliest Guy in Japan, 1975'. Would look nice on the wall."

"Keep up the good work and ye' brain's going on the wall: one day or the other, someone's bound ta beat ye up. Have ye tried meditating?  
Calms the mind."

"I could use that, but I don't have the time. Anyway, Ryuuji-san, it's better to hear it from me than from her."

"Love is blind, Shiro-san", the half-demon mumbled, sounding both miserable and accusing. "You don't know if-"

"No: _you're _blind. All I'm doing is keeping you from walking into closed doors."

"If I'm blind, what are you?" he returned in a somewhat louder voice. "I'm closer to Agari-chan's heart than you will ever be to Midori-chan's."

"What's that supposed to mean?" But Ryuuji looked away and didn't answer. Shiro wouldn't have thought anything of it if Mephisto hadn't said  
the same thing earlier. "Shizu-san, is there something I should know here?"

"Not my place ta say", he dodged, hands in his pockets.

"_He knows, too…?_" Shiro decided to keep the conversation casual rather than fire up more. "What, no witty remark about my stupidity?"

"No need: it's gonna smack ye in the face soon enough", he said, quirking the corner of his mouth upwards. "It really ain't my place to speak,  
anyhow."

"Maybe not, but it's my damn place to know", Shiro pushed. "Does Midori-chan have a boyfriend somewhere that you've been keeping secret?"

It's one thing to smell a rat; it's another to find out that everybody knows where the rat is except you. Shizuku was a great guy, the guy that  
made Shiro laugh and trudge through the days despite the world working against him: finding out that he, too, was in on this obscure conspiracy  
of silence was a blow in the gut.

"Just ask 'er, okay?"

"Oh come on, guys! Am I so much fun when I'm clueless?"

"Sort of, yeah", Shizuku admitted, rings clicking against his teeth as his grin stretched wide. "Not that we're laughing behind ye' back, but,  
ye know… it _is_ funny."

Shiro's thoughts spun into more and more unpleasant tracks as he tried to remember what Midori had said about smiles and daggers. Was  
she just playing with him? If she was even half the tease Mephisto was…

"_Ghueh…_" Thinking about similarities between the principal and the girl he was dating was past unpleasant and well into the domain of horrifying.  
It didn't help much, either. When he had returned the ichigenkin to Ryuuji, and hauled his books back to his room, he didn't have squat on why  
Midori would want to trick him.

*** Single-string, plucked instrument that's good for accompanying singing.**

****Tanukis are seen as jovial creatures that like food and drink, and it's common to have tanuki statues outside restaurants and**  
**the like. Apparently, some have real, taxodermically treated tanukis geared out with hat and saké bottle standing by the entrance.**


	33. 33: I promised you a date

**A/N: A prime sample of how my writing works... I had to promise Shiro another date that I wouldn't screw up, or he would've walked out on me. 0.0' And I wasn't going to ruin it for him, I swear, and I didn't: somebody else did... ^_^'**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Suspicion is a cancer of the mind. It starts as a pinprick of doubt, hidden in the eye of the beholder, and devours you slowly. It dusts arsenic  
in the wine, whispers betrayal in a loved one's voice, and singlehandedly overthrows friendship and kingdoms. It's also known for being  
exceptional at spoiling dates.

"Methinks Toshio-sensei looks a lot like Tora-san*", Midori chirped as they made their way out from he cinema. "Samurai Tora-san~"*

"And Goggles-sensei the dainty damsel in distress", Shiro grinned. "Good character mismatch, there."

"Toshio-sensei is nice, Shiro-kun: is you who are bad with sword."

"No need to sugar-coat it", he grimaced.

"Sugar coat?" Midori gave him big, shocked eyes. "You can eat coat…?"

"Oh, no, not like that. Sugar-coat… it's when you have something unpleasant to say, and you try to say it in a nicer way. You know, putting  
sugar on something that tastes bad to make it more appetizing?"

"Ah: the thing you don't do~"

"Yeah, the thing I don't do…" he smiled, helpless before Midori's impish grin. It was like puppy-eyes and fluffy bunnies and kittens learning to  
walk… "_I'm completely out of it, aren't I…?_" he pondered, some part of his self amused by how sappy the rest of him was.

It was one of those clear, cold evenings that mocked the calendar dates and vowed to keep spring hostage forever. Few were out in the streets  
except in the central marked district, and the two of them could enjoy the cosy privacy of the parallel side streets.

"Hey, Midori-chan; you know that feeling you get, when it's like everybody's keeping a secret from you?"

"M-hm~?" she confirmed, shaking the emptied paper cone of kappa ebisen** and meticulously licking it clean.

"That's the feeling I've been having, lately", he prodded. "Is there something I'm not being told here?"

"Oh yes", she smiled. "Kita-kun pushes Toshio-sensei to fail you – is a relative of his through marriage. And Sen made new ribbon." She turned  
to showcase a ribbon braided with gold and black, tied neatly around the tress in her neck.

Not what he was asking for, but he should probably say something nice about the ribbon.

"That looks ni-"

It sounded a little like a snicker concealed as huffing. In the corner of his eye, Shiro saw something small and white move on the sidewalk.

"You swallow fly?" Midori's ears angled apprehensively as she turned to face him.

"No… no, I just… thought it was a really nice ribbon." He pretended to check for the lighter in his pocket, shooting a quick glance back the way  
they had come: a white maneki neko*** statue waved from the entrance to a shop. "But that's not the kind of secrets I meant. I was asking if  
you're – if all of you – are keeping something secret from me?"

"Keeping something… secret from?" Midori looked like she was trying to solve a complicated mathematic equation. "Secret from who?"

"From me."

"We have your secret…?"

"No", he chuckled. "You have a secret, and I don't know what it is."

"I don't understand. Where did we get secret from?"

Shiro was about to tell her that her puzzled face was adorable, when he spotted the reflection of a little white dog trotting across a shop window.  
Whirling around, he saw a discarded newspaper being blown along the sidewalk.

"_I could've sworn…_" Or was he just more tired than he thought?

"You have fleas in head, Shiro-kun", she tittered, looking at him knowingly. "What is your itch?"

"Ryuuji-san, mostly", he confessed, pushing his glasses up. "You heard him the other night, didn't you?"

"Oh yes – nice voice." She began tearing the edges of the empty cone, making an octopus with a cone-shaped head. "Pity Agari-san is deaf."

"And Ryuuji-san blind", he sighed, smiling wanly at the situation.

"And you make poor third monkey."

"Monkey?" He sure felt like one, wearing that empty, confused stare. "Why am I a monkey?"

"Don't you know~?" Midori covered her eyes. "See no evil." Covered her ears. "Hear no evil." She made a move to cover her mouth, but threw  
her hands out as if buffeted by an explosion, her eyes twinkling with impish humour.

"Speak shitloads of evil", Shiro chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "Yeah, I make a poor monkey." He raised an eyebrow, still smiling.  
"Are you saying I'm not qualified to set Ryuuji-san straight?"

"Set straight?" Octopus finished, she carefully perched it on one ear. Really. How could you suspect somebody who did that?

"Oh boy… When someone is walking the entirely wrong way, and don't understand that; then you have to make them understand they're on  
the wrong track, and that's called setting somebody straight."

"Then, I say 'who will set you straight?' Mouth like yours will make people deaf and blind to you. And the only one left to curse will be a lonely  
monkey."

Things like that shouldn't sound serious, coming from one wearing an octopus hat, but they do. They do, because if you know the place to strike,  
it takes but a pin needle to kill.

"…I know." The words seeped out, fleeing and vague as the pale vapour that carried them. "I know I need to be more careful."

Midori shook her head and set her tress and paper tentacles dancing.

"You need to love. You need thing that grows happiness." She poked him gently in the chest. "Thing that will make hard heart soft." Then she put  
her finger to his lips, smiling as if she knew all the world's secrets. "Then mouth will be soft, too~"

"I'm feeling softer already", he murmured onto her fingertip.

This time he _knew _he heard it: the unhinged snicker from an invisible spectator who was enjoying himself immensely. Shiro chucked the lighter  
with all he had into a stretch of decorative evergreens across the street.

"Shiro-kun…?"

"Just scratching an itch", he grinned. He might have heard rustling needles, and he might have heard a surprised yelp. "Let's head back to the  
dorms, shall we? Oh, and come to think of it, would you like to go to the night market when it opens again?"

*** Tora-san is the colloquial name for "Otoko wa Tsurai yo", a series of 48 classic Japanese comedy films (they held the world record  
for that, for a while). The one Shiro and Midori watched would've been number 16, "Tora-san the Intellectual".**  
**** Crunchy, shrimp-flavoured snack. I'm gonna try those when I go to Japan next year. ;3**  
***** Most will know it already: it's the waving lucky-cat statue. But do you know the story? One version, in short, is of a nobleman  
who was riding through a forest and passed a run-down old temple. At the temple entrance sat a cat, and the nobleman was sure  
he saw it beckoning/waving at him. Curious, he turned his horse, and moments later lightning struck the spot where he would've  
been. Believing the cat had saved him, he donated generous amounts of money to the temple. And therefore maneki nekos are put  
up by shops to "beckon" people and bring in money.**


	34. 34: Raising the stakes

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

You have perfected the art of cat-napping when you fall asleep while chanting. While Shiro viewed this as something of an achievement,  
Goggles-sensei was less amused. He didn't get any punishment homework, thank the gods – only a public scolding in front of his class. It  
was okay, really. Until he fell asleep against the blackboard.

During the day Shiro experienced the typical rollercoaster of being dead tired and being hyper, and he didn't enjoy it one bit. The only class  
he needed was at the end of day.

"Excuse me, Futotsuki-sensei?"

"Yes?"

Last class was over: finally. Shiro pulled his cognitive facilities together as the little man waved goodbye to Sen and the other students.

"I was just wondering when you would teach us more advanced seals. I've had my eyes on the Secret Seal of Solomon for a while."

Futotsuki-sensei must know, at least something: what the vessel would look like, what type of thing it could hold – anything that could give  
a clue to what Mephisto was sealing, and why.

"I know you're ambitious", he said, turning to Shiro. "Goodness, do I know – five Meisters! You're going to go far, young man. I can give you  
extra assignments, if you like, but I won't show you how to prepare the Seal of Solomon." He made an excusing gesture. "Simply because I  
don't know it myself."

"Really?" That… wasn't what he had expected to hear. "But it seems like a very useful seal…? From what I gather, it can seal just about anything."

"In theory, Fujimoto-kun", the short-statured teacher smiled. "No practical test has been recorded in our time."

Save for the one right under their feet…

"Why not?"

"We owe Solomon a lot for the pioneering research he did, but in the scraps of his works that have survived he also asks us not to repeat his  
mistakes." Futotsuki gave him a meaningful glance. "It is said that Solomon devised that seal as an emergency solution, to imprison demons  
that proved too powerful to subdue. Such demons shouldn't be summoned in the first place, and therefore the incantations to summon them  
and the seals to bind them have fallen out of practice." He stroked the salamander that was his familiar gently over the nose. "Even I can agree  
that there are demons that should never be let into Assiah: it would be foolish to think they are all reasonable, just as it's foolish to say all  
humans are good of heart. No matter how powerful a seal is, it takes but a single stroke through a line to undo it: I believe Solomon learned  
that the hard way. The surviving records don't say what he summoned, but to this day, the lands that he ruled are cursed with enmity and  
bloodshed."*

No answers, only more question marks. What is powerful enough to lay a curse that lasts three thousand years? Why did Mephisto summon  
something that strong? Why did he seal it? And why at the Academy?

"_I don't think it's about the Academy_", he mused, trudging the walkway from the main building to the dorm area. "_Something that big would  
affect the whole country if it got loose. If I just knew what he was after, maybe I could guess… or if I knew what Pius promised him…_"

It was clear that Mephisto was doing _something_, but, as with the wards and the seal, Shiro had a nagging feeling he was only seeing a small  
part of a bigger picture. Maybe he would have a revelation that would point him in the right direction again, but he couldn't count on-

"Guten Abend~" a familiar, lilting voice said.

Sometimes, apparently, it's enough to think of the devil to make him appear. Mephisto was perched atop a lamppost as if it were a royal throne,  
one leg crossed over the other.

"Stalking me now, are you?" Shiro said dryly.

"Don't be absurd~ I'm replacing wards; it's turning into a full-time job, for that matter." He tossed something to Shiro. "Good aim."

Shiro didn't need to check what he'd caught; his fingers knew the outline of his lighter like they knew their own neighbours.

"Easy mark. Enjoy eavesdropping much?"

"Such a rude thing to say to a gentleman", he hummed, his crossed leg swinging idly back and forth and making the lamplight misbehave. "We  
were headed the same way, and I was trying my best not to interfere with your date." Merry snickering drifted down like late snowflakes.  
"Sakura-chan is a gem, and so cute~ Fascinating, truly, that she's as thick as you are…"

"About what?"

Oh, why ask? Mephisto gave a lazy smirk, taking his time to reply, turning the words over in his mouth like a savoury caramel.

"Really now – I'm trying _not_ to interfere~" he said sweetly; the lighting from below made his grin a sight that would haunt Shiro's nightmares  
for weeks. What little he slept, anyway.

"Whatever. I've been thinking about something." He adjusted the strap of his satchel. It wasn't easy for him to say, but he had to. "Think you  
could cut me some slack? From studies, I mean. Three Meisters is about what I can manage. Maybe if I quit Aria and Knight…"

"How would you observe Honda Shizuku? Has he been cleared of all suspicion~?"

Shiro grimaced. He knew better than to lie to a demon.

"No. Maybe Knight and Doctor, then?" He didn't want to quit Doctor, Matsuri-sensei's classes were among his favourites, but he had to stay  
afloat somehow.

"That would leave your half-demon friend without watch."

"_Oh, yeah; he signed up for Knight to have lessons with Agari…_" It wasn't exactly Ryuuji's fault that Shiro was in a pinch – or maybe it was, if he  
proved to be part of the conspiracy –but Shiro did feel a pinprick of resent for him. The only combination he could give up and still keep an eye  
on everyone was Knight and Tamer, but shahrokh had proved to him twice how useful a familiar can be…

"Time isn't mine to give, but yours to make", Mephisto drawled. "If you catch the saboteurs you can have as much time as you like."

"And what if I can't?" he said sourly, visualizing his funding deadline hanging like a guillotine blade at the end of spring semester. "What if I'd  
rather walk out on the deal and go to jail?"

It wasn't a tempting thought, but it would secure him food, clothes, and a place to sleep. As things were, he wouldn't last until graduation. It  
sucked to admit, but he was reaching his limits – that he could state as a reason, if need be. There was another reason, though, one he could  
never say aloud: Shiro was pretty certain the saboteurs were the good guys.

"You might want to watch your words, Shiro-kun~ What you say is true; for regular demons. I am not a regular demon." He didn't sound  
threatening: he sounded amused, which was a whole lot worse, coming from him. "My contracts favour the ones who keep them – call it  
an insurance, if you will~ If you decline to uphold your end of the deal, I will have your soul as compensation for my trouble."**

There are moments that are like skipping records; a missed beat in a familiar tune that shatters the sound weft for an instant, and fills that  
instant with the surreal silence of broken expectation. Mephisto's words slithered down Shiro's spine, interrupting life as he knew it. He'd never  
thought of… never even imagined…

"And you didn't see fit to tell me that _before _I agreed to it?" he managed to say through a throat that felt narrow as a needle-head.

"Why, did you enter the contract with the intention of breaking it?" His head tilted to the side, one lazy eyebrow cocked. "Such poor business  
morale~" The demon eyed him from his lamppost with an easy smile. "You didn't strike me as someone who would quit the race halfway – still  
don't. Rather, a person with potential to achieve anything, given the right… motivation~"

"Some damn motivation you've come up with!" Shiro snarled through clenched teeth, wishing the bloody clown was within punching range.  
"You'd think that when I agreed to help you, at least you would play fair!"

Mephisto wasn't bothered in the least by his accusatory tone, and why should he be? He held all the winning cards and he knew it.

"If you play my game, you play by my rules, Shiro-kun." The lamplight glinted eerily off his fangs and gave the impression that his eyes were  
glowing from within. "I never said it would be easy~"

"You never said what would happen if I lost", he returned sharply. He glared up at the demon with as much defiance as he could muster, but  
felt like a kitten baring its claws at a tiger. Mephisto seemed to be thinking the same thing.

"Victory and loss: ends of different kind, but ends all the same." He skipped down in a flurry of white and purple, landing gracefully on the  
pavement. "You humans obsess over completion. I've never understood that peculiarity~" He sauntered over to Shiro, twirling his umbrella  
with a merry look on his face. "After all, the purpose of a game is not to end it, but to play it. Ends are tedious things - no possibility for  
development, no bricks to build a future, no fun for either winner or loser." He leaned in, too close for Shiro's taste, and murmured:  
"There are many turns yet to be played, many crossroads yet for Lady Chance to appear on stage. What will it be for you, Shiro-kun?  
Play the game, or end it~?"

"Wipe that smirk off your face, you deranged old goat", he growled. He knew full well he didn't have a choice, and Mephisto's stupid metaphors  
didn't improve his mood. "The game's on."

"Splendid!" he beamed, straightening up and clapping his hands together. "Then come to my office on Thursday, half to seven.*** Auf Wiedersehen~"

Before Shiro could open his mouth to ask why, Mephisto had snapped his fingers and disappeared.

"Shiro-san…? This ain't the laundry room, ye know."

"Oi, gimme some credit, I'm not that stupid. Can I sleep in your room tonight?" he replied from behind the stack of bedclothes he was carrying  
atop the mattress.

"Ye' mouth get the better of you again?"

"It was in mutual understanding with the brain, actually", he said cheerfully, lack of sleep having about the same effect on brain and judgement  
as alcohol. "Now I can either sleep in your room or sleep with a knife under my pillow."

Shizuku hefted the pile with a muffled snickering and began putting together a decent sleeping spot on the floor.

Ninety percent of the stuff in the room was Ryuuji's: instruments, books, stacks of music tapes, clothes, picture frames with famous musicians  
and actors... His parents must be doing pretty well. Shizuku, being a monk of sorts, and a pilgrim on top of that, had virtually no belongings.  
There was one picture frame on his side of the room, with an ill-treated photography in it: a weatherworn man and woman with shaved heads  
and old-fashioned garments. Three girls of varying height, all grinning as if they'd just put itching-powder in their neighbour's office suit,  
surrounded a little bundle of cloth in the woman's arms. It looked like a documentary photography of some remote, forest-dwelling tribe of  
Indians, each of them having at least eight piercings in face and ears.

"What did you say to Kita-san?" Ryuuji asked from where he was reading by his bed lamp.

"I tried out Shizu-san's advice of not comparing the Todos and the Yaonarus. It was good advice."

"An' poor use of good advice. Yer mouth's gonna get ye killed one day", Shizuku said, spreading the duvet over the cot. "Is there anyone ye  
won't pick a fight with?"

Shiro thought for a moment. Rather, thoughts swirled around in a drunken dance while he tried as best he could to grasp what he was thinking.  
There had been a time when his answer would've been "no". Then he had enrolled at True Cross and tried to become… well, not exactly a  
model citizen, but one who could at least keep a dishwasher job. And now he was slipping back in the old tracks, and they fit him snug as a  
glove.

"Your sister", he replied and rubbed his stinging eyelids. "At least if there are pines nearby."

"That where the line goes?" Shizuku chuckled. "You had a lot of enemies where you came from, that's for sure. Makes one wonder how ye  
ever sleep without a knife under ye' pillow…"

Shiro flicked out his switchblade knife with the ease of many years' practice.

"I don't." With a deranged chuckle, sprung from too little sleep and too much work, he put the knife on the mattress and patted the pillow  
over it. "There. Better than any teddy-bear."

"You actually _do _sleep with a knife under your pillow?" Ryuuji gaped. "That can't be in line with Academy rules!"

"No, but I'm counting on it to save my ass when rules don't", he said, starting to strip down to his un-pyjamas.

"Man…" Shizuku eyed Shiro as if he were an alien. "Tell me somethin' here. Yer the kinda guy who pisses off everything with ears an' sleeps  
with a knife under 'is head. Yer not the kinda guy who busts his ass Meistering in five exorcist classes. What ye doing that for?"

"You know what? I'm too tired to even answer that. I need sleep for my reflexes in Knight class."

"That's what I'm sayin', Shiro-san!" Shizuku pursued, throwing his arms out. "Ye fuckin' suck at swords! An' ye memorize the chants, but ye  
hate Aria class. Why the fuzz? Why are ye doing stuff ye don't wanna do?"

"Honestly? 'cause I have to. I get my school fees paid through an orphan support fund. Once I graduate from senior high school I'm expected  
to pay for myself; no more funding, no more studies. I've got no savings, nobody to pay for me, and with my record nobody will hire me for a  
part-time job. I have to prove I'm worth a scholarship even if I'm over-age or it's good-bye True Cross Academy."

What surprised Shiro wasn't how easily truth mixed with lie, but how real it sounded. And it _felt _real. The tension in his shoulders, the tight  
feeling in his chest, the heartbeat that gushed out the words faster than it should…

"_I'll play your game, you double-crossing bastard. And I'm gonna win._"

*** Well, Solomon was real, but the scriptures attributed to him (****_Testament of Solomon_**** is the one I'm referring to here) are considered  
forgeries of later date. Even so, it's nice material to fodder a fanfic. The lands that Solomon ruled, which were sundered after his death  
because of his tampering with demons and foreign gods, are, as you may have guessed, modern-day Israel/Palestine and thereabouts.  
** According to the 1587 edition of ****_Historia von Dr. Johann Faustus_****, if you attempt to cheat Mephisto on a deal you get dragged to  
hell on the spot. =P I thought it was worth keeping.  
*** Just a thing I added without much thought. In German, as in Swedish, you express half hours like 18.30 as "half (to) seven"  
instead of "half past six". Yeah, just a useless detail... ^_^'**


	35. 35: A new teacher

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Shiro had been wanting to tell Toshio-sensei to shove his sword someplace for a very long time: it was with utter satisfaction he handed  
him Mephisto's summons that excused him from Knight class.

The satisfaction was pitifully short-lived, as most pleasures unfortunately are. Once out of the classroom, he wondered what the bastard was  
planning. First he uses his soul as a bloody bargaining chip, and then he cancels Shiro's classes in the subject he's likeliest to fail? A very  
discomforting thought had been nesting in Shiro's mind for the past days, a thought that wormed its way down to his intestines and made them  
twist like newly hatched snakes: what if Mephisto was consciously pushing him towards a breaking point where he couldn't keep his end of the  
deal? He hadn't considered it before, because he'd thought there would be nothing for the demon to gain if he couldn't fulfil the contract. Now,  
however…

"_Everything is a game to him_", he reminded himself as he scaled the many stairs up to the office. "_It's all about what move gains him the  
most benefits. If I'm useful, I'll stay on the game-board._" He turned the handle on one of the white double doors. "Oi, I'm he-"

He was tired as a hedgehog in December, but there was no possibility he could have taken a wrong turn. Mephisto's office was the single door  
on the right…

Shiro took two steps back and checked. Yes, it was the right corridor. Yes, the No Smoking sign was on the door. No magical key in the lock.  
But this wasn't Mephisto's office. It was a huge, dark-

"Welcome to the Ceremonial Hall~"

Shiro jumped back, hand on his knife, heart competing with his Adam's apple for the space.

"Why the hell do you always sneak up on me like that?!"

"Yes, I wonder~" Mephisto smirked around a lollipop, wearing a look that said he had something even tastier right in front of him. Shiro felt a  
sudden urge to cover himself with an additional layer of clothes. "You look like you're in the mood for hitting something?"

"You might say that."

"Shan't leave you wanting, then! This way~"

Mephisto gestured for him to enter the dark cave that wasn't supposed to be behind that door.

"And where is 'this way'?" Shiro didn't know what to think, but settled for suspicious. It seemed the best option when Mephisto was in that  
mood. "Mind telling me where your office is?"

"Where it's always been: I just convinced the door it led to another room~" Convinced the door… If Shiro hadn't already suspected Mephisto  
had a few sheep out of the paddock, that would have made him wonder. "This is the headquarters of the Japanese branch of True Cross Order,  
beneath the Academy."

It _seemed _alright: that means nothing. He didn't exactly trust Mephisto after learning about the fine print of their agreement. If this really was  
part of the Academy, and not some dungeon or other hellhole, why hadn't he used keys as he always did?

"Magical keys got boring?"

"Magical keys got misplaced", he said, twirling the blue lollipop against his tongue.

"Couldn't you just", he snapped his fingers, "and get them?"

"'Misplaced' infers that the location of an object is unknown: I can't bend space in a location I don't know."

So that's how he did it?

"That actually makes sense." Shiro stepped over the threshold in what he hoped looked like a casual manner. Once inside, it wasn't as dark as  
it had seemed. "It's big." His voice made a solo choir in the silent cavern.

"Stunning deductive abilities. Yes, it's big: and barren, and private. Perfect."

He had pretty much expected an assault at this point, but Mephisto's heeled boots clicked off along a winding walkway, guided by lantern light  
that steeped the yawning arches in deeper shadow. Shiro followed one step behind, admiring the woven banners in the cave roof and the inlaid  
emblems on the path. You'd expect it to be cold down there, but the temperature was actually pleasant. You could live down there, if you wanted  
to. An unsanctioned tingle of excitement in Shiro's gut confirmed that his childhood dreams of a secret underground base were still alive and  
kicking; an underground base in an underground lake was even better.

"Your teachers inform me that you keep up with schedule and will have sufficient knowledge to pass the Esquire exams in May." Mephisto made  
a flourishing turn on his heel as they reached another paved platform. "Except in Knight."

"What a surprise. Toshio-sensei is trying to fail me 'cause Kita-san is his relative and the little bastard thinks I'm trying to get promoted."

"The young Yaonaru won't have to worry unless you make considerable progress: which brings us to why we are here~" Mephisto removed his  
top hat, and with a count of eins, zwei, drei, he reached into it and pulled out a bokken. "One for you…" he pulled out another one and left the  
hat sitting on the balustrade. "And one for me. Any questions before we start~?"

Yes, a hundred.

"_You _are gonna teach me swordsmanship…?"

"Why yes~ I do hold the title of Honorary Knight", he smiled, snapping his fingers.

"_And rape my country's heritage..._"

Shiro grimaced as his ridiculous principal uniform was replaced with an even more ridiculous hakama. It came in white and purple, with  
little dogs and hearts and stars all over the trousers. This had to be a joke. In Shiro's experience, whenever somebody was accepted into an  
institution under the title Honorary it usually meant they didn't actually know shit about the work.

-

As was his habit in regards to Mephisto, Shiro was dead wrong. His title was Honorary because the Vatican wouldn't give a real title to a demon:  
even if said demon had bested nine different Paladins that all had Knight as their primary Meister.*

To say that knife and sword are similar because they are both edged weapons is to say that a dragonfly and a seagull are similar because they  
both fly. The switchblade was like an extension of Shiro's arm; the sword was like an extension of his leg, substituted for his arm. It required  
a whole new set of skills, and neither he nor Toshio-sensei had had the patience to teach him those. Even if Mephisto went easy on him, he  
was soon out of breath and had to push his glasses up time and again as they slipped on his sweat-coated nose.

"No juice in youth these days~ Take a break", the demon said, sheathing his bokken in his belt with the flowing elegance of a concert violinist  
working a bow.

Shiro sheathed his like a violinist asked to assemble a tuba, and flopped down on the balustrade. He didn't care if it annoyed Mephisto or not:  
he dug out a smoke and put it to his lips with a hand that trembled from fatigue. The whole thing was just embarrassing. He could screw up  
in front of Toshio-sensei and the rest of class; it stung, but he could live with that. Screwing up in front of Mephisto felt infinitely worse,  
because… because it was worse. Period.

"_He'll rub my face in it, for sure_", Shiro thought glumly, tapping ashes off into the water. Mephisto was good, that much was for certain, but it  
doesn't matter how good a teacher is if the student sucks. "Wha-? Hey!"

He had been prepared for the demon to snatch his smoke: he had not been prepared for him to snatch his glasses. The underground base  
blurred to a mass of grey rock, black water, and fuzzy lights. The white-and-purple blob in the middle of it all held up the glasses for inspection.

"You seem to pay great attention to these?"

"'course: they're my only pair of glasses", Shiro muttered, taking the opportunity to draw long breaths on his cigarette. "_Wish I'd had another,  
so I could see you…_" he smiled into his hand as Mephisto tried them on. Prince or imp, demons were curious about everything Assaian. Oh  
well – he'd be at least as curious if he'd been visiting Gehenna. Wonder what it would be like, to have no body? How did you move around?  
How did you speak? How did-

"Awful things", Mephisto concluded, taking the glasses off and shaking his head to get rid of the wrong focus. "Eins, zwei, drei!"

Pink smoke enveloped his glasses. Shiro almost swallowed his cigarette, jumped up from the balustrade-

"What the…?" He came to an awkward stop as Mephisto laid something around his neck and deftly put the glasses back on his nose. They  
were just like before, alright: except the abominations that flanked his field of view. "You have to be kidding! What the hell's this supposed to be?"

Mephisto nonchalantly slapped him over the head. Not hard, thankfully – he could probably slug the skull right off his spine if he wanted  
to – but hard enough for his head to whip down towards his chest. Shiro instinctively cupped his hand in front of his face to catch his glasses;  
but they never fell. They didn't even slip.

"Oh…" Too surprised to worry about the cigarette he'd dropped, Shiro tilted his head back and forth. The glasses remained in place as if glued  
onto his nose.

"Try a handstand, if you will", Mephisto said, squashing the smoke under his boot. "They only come off if you take them off."

"That's neat. Except it makes me look like a granma."

"Matches your swords skill, then."

"Oi! I'm doing the best I can – think you could do the same? Like something better than this?" He caught the string between his fingers,  
dangling the little cross demonstratively.

Mephisto placed one hand on his hip, and the tip of his bokken under Shiro's chin.

"Clothes make the man~" he quoted, a playful smile tugging his lips. "But only a man of confidence can make the clothes." The tip slid to the  
glasses string. "It suits you." He tapped the bokken on Shiro's hand. "Now that you don't have to think about your glasses you might want to  
start thinking about your wrists. The katana is a two-handed sword: the right hand supports and guides the movements, the left follows and  
augments. They either move in synch, or they hamper-" He cut himself short as Shiro drew his sword, changed his mind halfway with a muted  
curse and hurriedly adjusted his grip. "I remembered you as right-handed?"

"I am."

"But you assume a left-handed grip by default?"

Shiro shrugged.

"It feels more natural."

"Then go with left-handed."

That wasn't what Toshio-sensei had said. Shiro smiled inwardly as he switched back to his unorthodox grip. Maybe training for Mephisto  
wouldn't be so bad after all. At the very least, he seemed determined to help keep Shiro on the game board.

-

Wrong again: training for Mephisto was a pain. Walking back to his dorm, he felt like hitting someone. He'd _tried _to hit Mephisto, plenty of  
times, but it was like trying to cut through a wall. His new roommate was probably asleep by now, couldn't let off any steam in there.

"_Might as well_ _take the opportunity to practice…_" He sat down on a bench outside, closing his eyes.

Rewind eight years. Rewind to a dinner table at a family gathering. Everybody's there, everything is jolly good, just fine; perfect, in fact. His  
mom was smiling at granny – he could remember her smile and her voice, but the rest of her face was still hidden in bitterness. His dad was  
talking to grandad, about some game that had been played recently. He couldn't remember what sport – tennis, maybe? Or was it soccer?

There had been another guest at the table, too. A silent, invisible family member that had moved in with them recently. It sucked the laughter's  
out of the air, gulped down the smile on his grandmother's face. His grandmother was nice, no taller than he was, and she smelt like homeliness.  
She broke his heart with that smile. He wanted to tell her about the new family member, but she was so far away – she couldn't have heard him  
even if he'd shouted. Mom had told him not to say anything; had made him promise. It was very important to pretend that some people didn't  
exist, even if they ate every meal with them and slept in their-

The first red eye of burning coal opened in his chest. A hundred meals had been eaten that way: pretending the secret wasn't there. A hundred  
nights had passed when dad hadn't slept in mom's bed: and she had pretended they never happened. A red beast beat its tail in Shiro's veins,  
beat a war drum-rhythm that hammered at his composure.

Ink. Writhing, living ink.

Shiro's eyes snapped open, staring wildly into the night. But it was already in him. It tore into the memories like a starved animal, threw up  
the anger and the bitterness in a mucky cloud from the bottom-most sediments of his heart.

"_Fuck!_"

Shiro's mind floundered like a man drowning, recoiling from the darkness on instincts older than time. He could feel his control slipping, felt his  
arms and legs move without his consent. The inky intruder wrapped itself around his brain, cornered him, cut him off from the outside world.

Deaf, blind, a prisoner in his own body, Shiro fought like he'd never fought before in his life. There was a terrible drowsiness, a leaden weight  
that promised him safety and rest, and it was a tempting offer: the demon was wreaking havoc in his head, pushing him to embrace the  
comatose sleep by digging up graves and overturning the coffins with everything he'd tried to bury. Dark secrets and painful memories  
flooded his mind, eighteen years' worth of it; the anger and the bitterness magnified to the point where he felt his skull must crack open,  
and the weft of his sanity was wearing thin.  
_  
"Mom. Mom, I saw dad with that woman again today. They were kissing."_

He couldn't hear the words, but he felt them; etched into his flesh like prayers on a grave marker.  
_  
"…I know, honey." Her smile was warm and sweet, but her eyes were empty. "It's okay. Just don't tell anyone, will you?"_

_"But mom…"_

_"No, honey. Mom's busy, and dad's busy, too. Go play, it's okay."_

_"No it's not! He's got you! He should be kissing you!"_

**"Why not let go, honey~?" the presence mocked in a voice that was neither male nor female, or even human. "Forget it all  
and go to sleep: you know you want to. I know you want to. I know everything about you~ Just turn away and go to sleep,  
Fujimoto Shiro."**

"_I don't wanna sleep, you fuck…!_" he gritted his teeth mentally. No, he wouldn't sleep; that's what the demon wanted… that's what it _needed_…

Demons, despite their vast power, have no physical form. Human emotion, however powerful, has no physical form. The emotional waste in  
the human heart accumulates a strong concentration of power, and demons use that to gain access to the physical body: but to take control  
of the body, they need to wrestle control from its owner. They need to weaken, to subdue, to suppress… Shiro faintly grasped what Sen had  
been trying to teach him: be master of your self, be master of your emotions, and be master of the demon.

Shiro stopped struggling against the tidal wave. It submerged him, crushed him, suffocated him with everything he'd turned away from over  
the course of eighteen years. He did not struggle: he let it flood him, let it flood into him, met all the regrets and bitterness and disappointments  
face to face. In the end, Fujimoto Shiro wasn't a runner.

It hurt. It hurt like pressing glass shards into one's eyes: but it had to be done, whatever it took. Let darkness be part of you, not possess you.  
Possess the darkness.

Shiro's vision returned reluctantly as he forced the demon to yield his senses. He found himself down on all fours, as if overcome by sudden  
dizziness. And he was on a… balcony. No idea where, no idea how long he'd been out, no idea what he'd done up until- His thoughts froze as  
he saw the hands resting on the plastic carpet: claws like Mephisto's, on his fingers…

Darkness welled up with the sudden shift in emotional balance, catching Shiro off guard. The demon once again muddled his senses, tried to  
tear control away from him. Claws dug into the carpet, teeth clenched around a low growl that most definitely didn't come from his voice.

"_Get the hell out of my body!_" he hissed. He pushed the demon back to stalemate, but it was firmly barricaded in the darkness he could just  
barely keep under control. "_If that's how you wanna do it, you little bitch…_"

He crawled over to the plastic watering can in the corner, wary of the demon's tampering words. The balance was delicate, and averting his  
attention for even a moment would spell disaster.

"O salt, creature of God", he whispered, wiping sweat from his brow. "I exorcise you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by  
the God who ordered you to be poured into the water by Eliseus the Prophet so that its life-giving powers might be restored. I exorcise you so  
that you may become a means of salvation for believers, that you may bring health of soul and body to all who make use of you, arid that you  
may put to flight and drive away from the places where you are sprinkled every apparition, villainy, and turn of devilish deceit, and every  
unclean spirit, adjured by Him Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire. Amen."

Shiro grinned darkly at the demon's honeyed promises of surrender. Finally, all those extra hours with the old course literature paid off.

"O water, creature of God, I exorcise you in the name of God the Father almighty, and in the name of Jesus Christ His Son, our Lord, and in  
the power of the Holy Spirit. I exorcise you so that you may put to flight all the power of the Enemy, and be able to root out and supplant  
that Enemy with his apostate angels: through the power of our Lord Jesus Christ, Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the  
world by fire. Amen."

He dipped his sweaty fingers into the mouth of the watering can and crossed himself with his other hand. The submerged  
fingers began to sting and sizzle. Oh, this was going to hurt….

"Bottoms up, you fuck." He lifted the can, tilted his head back, and let the holy water set fire to his throat.

**A/N: And that's one explanation to how Shiro got his glasses string. =P I don't think it's the type of thing teenagers usually wear  
(me being an exception), and definitely not something for such a delinquent as the Shiro I'm writing. Take it from one who  
competed in gymnastics for half a decade: glasses and somersaults don't mix. =X He'd need something like that string to pull  
off the stunts I expect you'd face as an exorcist in this manga. I wouldn't say no to one for myself, either. xP**

**That's not the whole prayer for blessing holy water, that would've been way too much wasted space, but it is the real deal (from  
pre-Vatican II initiative).**

* You have noticed it, haven't you? How the Honorary Knight seems added to the exorcist rank sheet on a later date, and it's the only  
Honorary title there is, and there's only one who holds that rank... =P I, for one, don't think the Vatican would give a real title to a  
demon. And I do hope we get to see in the manga if Mephisto really can use a sword (Mephisto vs Angel = awesome 83 ).  



	36. 36: Just because I can

**A/N: This chapter exists basically because I couldn't leave Shiro on the balcony with no follow-up. As always happens when I think  
"I'll just put it here for form's sake", my muse drops a surprise on me. Usually in the shape of an eccentrically dressed demon principal.  
So no real plot elements, just... playing with the concept and throwing a few bones to the fangirls... ;3**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Shiro woke slowly to the feeling of being on fire. Well, wouldn't that be extraordinarily stupid? Why would he set himself on fire…

The sheets had a crisp feeling to them that he didn't recognize. And the bed was hard. That ruled out his own bed and Mephisto's. He cracked  
open one eye, but without glasses it was pretty useless. His surroundings were very white, that much he could tell. Hang on… Shiro sniffed, only  
to find his nose completely blocked. He tried breathing in instead, to taste the air that way, but started coughing. His whole ribcage seemed to  
creak in protest. Suffice to say, you don't sleep out on a balcony in February without catching pneumonia.

He slept most of the time in the infirmary. Once when he woke up there was a get-well card from Ryuuji; he assumed the little wooden donkey  
was from Shizuku, though he didn't get the point until he noticed the tiny cigarette and the glasses made of wire.

Next time he woke, it was because Shizuku dropped the huge _Comprehensive Demonology _from the stack of course books.

"Thought you might wanna do something while yer in here", he said, disengaging the books on a chair. "Midori-chan and Sen-chan's been over,  
too." He nodded at the chocolate box on the bedside table. "How ye holdin' up?"

"Could've been worse, I guess." He was feeling perkier every time he woke up, but that might have been for catching up on sleep. He still  
coughed all the time, and it still hurt awfully. "Wish they would give me less ugly nurses, though", he said, quirking a smile at Shizuku.

"Tch, yer fine alright", he chuckled. "This is for sanitary reasons." He tugged the elastic string on his surgical mask and let it snap back. "They  
wouldn't let me in with my face."

"Leave it at the door."

"Ye seem the same as ever, so I'll bother ye some more: would ya solve the mystery of why a lady in the middle o' True Cross Town calls  
school an' says she's found one of its students on 'er balcony? Huh…?" Shizuku bent down again, picking up something from the floor. "The  
hell's this?" He turned the lone paper this way and that. "Hate to break it te ya, but I could'a drawn better with both thumbs cut off."

"That's not me." Shiro grinned through a fit of coughing as Shizuku put Mephisto's drawing of him to rest against the chocolate box. "It's from  
a little kid I used to know at the orphanage."

"I didn't take ye for the type ta be good with kids. Now, about that balcony…?"

"I was possessed. When I came to I was on a balcony somewhere. Still had the bastard in me, so I blessed a watering can and dunked myself  
in holy water."

"Wow. Came to, while the demon was still in ye?" That was genuine admiration on Shizuku's face, if Shiro's wasn't hallucinating from fever.  
"How d'ya do that?"

"Sen-chan taught me a few tricks", he smiled. "Gotta thank her when I see her next."

"I rather think ye pissed the demon off so much it left", Shizuku chuckled. "Anyway, good ta see yer doing alright."

-

Sanitary procedure didn't only discriminate Shizuku's face, but Shiro's steadily increasing need for nicotine. Going out to smoke, the nurses  
informed him, was absolutely out of question in his state.

The nurse had left, and Shiro had picked up a book on the history of seals and wards to kill some time, when the next guest dropped in.

"Guten Tag." A chair swooshed over from the wall to assist him. "I heard you were awake – quite the commotion you've caused, but I suppose  
that's in your nature." Mephisto folded one leg over the other and sat, at safe distance from the vicious microorganisms. He cocked his head,  
gazing intently at Shiro. "You smell of demon. I did suspect it, when a handful of wards around the dorms were taken down…" He stroked his  
goatee, brow furrowing. "But the smell is faint. It was exorcised. By who?"

"By me." Shiro didn't see any need to hide his smugness around the smuggest bastard alive.

"You retained control of your body during possession? Interesting~" Thoughts raced across the demon's face like a flock of crows at dusk. "Can  
I assume the young lady Futotsuki has part in this?"

"Yep."

"Tsk tsk, your casual tone doesn't do justice to the weight of your words. You must have made a good impression on her, and on your teacher.  
The Futotsuki don't share such things with just anyone."

"Go figure – they were hunted like animals for the things they did." Shiro closed his book and held it up for Mephisto to read the title. It was  
about seals and wards, but it was not course literature. "A clan of demon worshippers, originally: until they were invited to teach at the recently  
founded True Cross Academy. And the Moriyamas were cursed and driven into the woods before the same offer was given them. You've collected  
quite the staff for this place."

"Can't run a school without teachers", he said, spreading his hands with a pleasant smile.

"Pretty odd teachers to select, though. Why them, specifically?"

"Few 'ordinary' teachers would work for a demon back when this school was built", he said in smooth tones. "The Futotsuki were eager to help:  
the Moriyamas… have you figured it out yet~?"

It was on his tongue to say that Mephisto probably fancied having his own harem: then he changed his mind and tried to think up a good way  
of implying that being the patron of lonely women would make a good cover for his… other inclinations. Perhaps it was the delay from the  
clash of ideas, or perhaps he was actually learning to watch his tongue:

"I can't see any other connection than their curse", he coughed into the crook of his arm.

"Not a curse, Shiro-kun." Mephisto wagged a gloved finger. "A bloodline that only births women – fine women, I should say~ – and whose  
members have the gift of making everything that grows thrive?" He cocked an eyebrow with a smile that said Shiro really ought to make better  
use of his brain – maybe rent the vacant space to hibernating caterpillars? "They are descendants of long gone forest spirits. Once upon a time,  
a male Moriyama in all likelihood got lost and met a beautiful woman of the woods, who promised to lead him out in exchange for his company.  
Humans like the Moriyamas are the living legacy of the spirits of ancient Japan; how could I not want them for my school~?"

The door in the adjacent room creaked, followed by the soft padding of slippered feet. Mephisto disappeared in a cloud of pink smoke.

"_Too bad, he was talking for on-_" Shiro almost jumped out of the bed. The sudden motion tightened his windpipe and triggered a coughing fit.  
"What…? What the hell do you think you're doing?" he hissed at the stumpy tail that just disappeared under his bedcovers. The footsteps came  
closer.

"People would start wondering if I paid such unusual attention to one of my students", came the whispered reply. "And pets aren't allowed."

"Then get _under _the bed!"

But no: the little furry body snuggled closer to his side until it was almost undetectable beneath the covers.

"I'm your principal, not some common mutt", the bump hissed indignantly.

Shiro put the book on him to hide what little was visible. The nurse made for his bed with a nursey smile. The kind that comes with the work  
description.

"How are you feeling, Fujimoto-kun? Do you want something for the fever?"

"It's okay for now. Are you sure I can't get my smokes back? There's no one but me in this whole section."

She poured an excusing look into her smile and shook her head.

"I can't let you smoke with pneumonia, Fujimoto-kun. Even when you are fit to leave the infirmary, you should wait a few days. Can I get  
you something else?"

"No, I'm fine."

When the soft steps were out of earshot, Mephisto crawled out. He sat down next to him on the bed, giving him that look dogs make when  
they want you to read their mind and do what you're supposed to do.

Shiro was not particularly good at mindreading.

"…well? She's gone: get out of my bed."

"My bow's ruined", the dog complained, his little nose crinkling. "Some assistance, if you would…?"

"Oh for the love of…"

Shiro put his book on the bed table and lifted him up in his lap to redo the miserable bow. He wouldn't confess it on his deathbed, but the little  
dog was rather cute. Despite the shaggy look, the fur he'd felt under the covers was soft and silky; and those funny, bushy little eyebrows… didn't  
change the fact that it was Mephisto. And that he had snuggled up against Shiro just minutes ago.

"You're turning back and getting out of here the moment I'm d-"

Shiro just gave the bow a final tightening tug, and Mephisto turned back. On his lap. With Shiro's hands twined into his cravat.

The only movement in the whole world was the one twitch Shiro's left eyebrow made.

"…you're doing it on purpose, aren't you?"

"_You _asked me to turn back before leaving your bed", he said in honey tones.

Shiro pulled the cravat taut around his throat and yanked Mephisto's face level with his own.

"I meant before you leave _the_ _infirmary_, you pervert", he said in brimstone tones. "Now get off me."

"I like a man who plays it rough~" He tugged the polka-dotted garment looser with a smirk that could make the blind blush. "Pity you're just a boy.  
Werde bald gesund~"

Mephisto disappeared, leaving Shiro to a different kind of fever and a boiling desire to smash something to pieces.

"Shameless bastard", he muttered. "Should've coughed on him…"

**A/N: If you've come this far: thank you for sticking with me. I think it's about time I say that. =P**

**Thank you _wildkurofang_, for being my first-ever reviewer with sweet feedback and lots of inspiration.**  
**Thank you _XxAlysxX_, for giving Shiro (and me) the motivation to keep going despite everything I put him through, and for  
inspiring extra-material. ;)**  
**Thank you _Mimi MC_, for noticing the small things and confirming that it's worth the extra time to research, and to expand  
the story outside the confines of canon (just a little, just enough).**  
**Thank you _Pheles-chan_, for thinking (and saying!) it's awesome, and (I have an odd feeling) sort of predicting where I intend  
to go with the story... 0.o**  
**Thank you _xHobgoblinXMashoux_, for giving me compliments I hope I'll one day earn a right to. ^_^'**  
**Thank you _Cat-Tastic-Luv_, though I don't know you much, but I hope you'll stick around for future chapters too.**  
**Thank you _Shelk_ - and keep running, even if you hit obstacles along the way.**  
**Thank you _tmmdeathwishraven_, for virtually making my head spin with pride.**  
**Thank you _Shadethedemon_, for being such a nice penpal and asking many questions.**  
**Thank you _Sebbyfuzz_, for liking the fic even though I sound crazy. =P**

**Thank you everyone, for writing to me and asking funny questions and just... telling me what you think. It means a lot, truly. =^.^=**

**"Will Shiro and Mephisto get together?" is the most common question I get. =P Unfortunately, it's the question I find most difficult  
to answer. ^_^' Yes, Shiro and Mephisto are my #1 OTP. But there's an endless spectrum to define "romance", and what you think  
of when you ask might be something very different from what I think of when I reply. You can write a pairing many different ways,  
you know? (And I'm not talking who's seme and who's uke =P)**

**In 73.6 cases out of 92, I don't even like romance. I find it... dull. =X That said, there are a few cases that I like. I can, and will,  
write romance-ish scenes, but it will be "my" kind of romance.**

**Trying to define that... =P Since I'm trying to keep this as canon as possible, a lovey-dovey giving-you-breakfast-on-the-bed-and-  
kissing-before-leaving-for-work romance is out of question. Mephisto is a game master who never shows his cards, and Shiro is  
the kind of guy who can't even tell his own son he loves him without making it a backhanded, teasing remark. They will stay that  
way. The aim of this fic was never to center around romance, and that's how it will be in future chapters too. Those who aren't  
fond of yaoi can just read it as playful teasing between friends, and those who do like yaoi can read whatever they want into it.  
**

**You will understand what I mean (I hope) when I put up the cover picture I've been working on. I made 4+ drafts or so, searching  
for the perfect angles. I'm not saying I'll ever obtain them: with facial expressions, half a millimeter will change everything, so I  
reckon I might make two or three more attempts before I get something that even resembles the ideal. When I come close enough,  
I'll post a link and let you judge. If I succeed, that picture in all its complex simplicity will pretty much say everything I couldn't  
say with words in this fic. ^_^'**


	37. 37: Composure

**A/N: Straggling chapters. =.= I was going to give you 8 when I updated, but these two were misbehaving. I polished the last  
batch a little, too, when I noticed I'd mixed up the mecha-animes. Sorry 'bout that. ^_^'**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

There is a saying that disaster likes company – or something like that. Anyway, such things are relative. In this case, Shiro was the disaster, and  
no company liked him. His current roommate was a step up from Kita, but only because not much could be worse than Kita.

"_Maybe I could bet with Mephisto again_", he mused as he worked on his paper on comparison of Asian political systems and their correlation to  
national economy. It was as boring as it sounded. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his sore knuckles. If he'd had even half a brain he wouldn't have  
used his right hand, his pen hand, to beat up that freshman earlier. But the guy had made fun of his glasses string, which was now part of his  
glasses, and you did not insult Shiro's glasses. "_If I win, he pays my tuition. That's a lot of money, I wonder if he'd do it… and what I would have  
to bet against him…_" He grinned. "_Wonder if he'd accept a drawing competition…?_"

The door creaked open behind him. Shiro braced his ears: his dirty laundry was still waiting in a pile on the floor at the foot of his bed, he hadn't  
cooked even if it was his turn to make supper…

"I see you're in." Something landed next to him on his desk. "I would appreciate it if you kept our respective belongings separate. I found one  
of your magazines slipped inside my course literature today."

It was indeed one of Shiro's magazines. The special edition featuring Japan's bustiest bikini models. He'd been looking for that one.

"If you wanna borrow it just ask. You could use some relaxing literature." Understatement: it would take a construction crane to get the rod out  
of that guy's ass. Saburota wouldn't shout or pester him, as Kita had, no: he was tranquillity itself. Banana or no banana, he was as close as  
you got to a robot. Against better knowledge, Shiro added: "I would appreciate to have it back clean, though. If you know what I mean."

"Honda-kun warned me of your uncouth mouth", he said, _calm_, and started to unload books on his own desk. "Rest assured, taunts are a waste  
of your time."

And inside Shiro's head, the bell rang, and the boxing match between Reason and Temptation was on. Saburota did have outstanding composure.  
And Shiro did have an outstanding itch to see him lose it.

"You look like you could hold up better than Kita-san", he said, trying to distract himself from doing something stupid. "You're a whole lot more  
bearable than him, too. He never stopped nagging me about the Meisters. Tenacious bastard." He turned a page in his book, mostly for show.  
"It's to surpass you, isn't it? The youngest Yaonaru and the youngest Todo, rivals from birth."

"The 'rivalry' is one-sided. There is no room for petty competition in work where lives are at stake."

It was easy to forget that Saburota was only four years older than him. He spoke and acted like he was at least twenty years older, and it hadn't  
surprised Shiro in the least to hear that he was considered for teaching Tamer class once Futotsuki-sensei, who was growing silver around the  
temples, retired. A driven young man, a prodigy exorcist, a role model: a person Kita resented with all his heart.

"That's sensible." He turned another page. "Why do the Yaonaru hold a grudge against you? I don't need to ask what you have against them  
that everybody else doesn't, but what's their history with your family?"

"It's nothing important."

"Nothing important?" Shiro's eyebrows rose, and his eyes left the book. Apparently that rod went as far up as his neck, making Saburota unable  
to slouch even the slightest when poring over his literature. "That's funny. I hear Kita-san's older brother almost did one of yours in on a mission.  
'Ricocheting bullet', huh? It could be, and it could be something else. If something's worth attempted murder, it ain't 'nothing important'."

"It's a molehill turned a mountain", he said, no notable emotion attached to the statement. "The Yaonarus have been exorcists since early Edo  
days. They even served the Imperial Court. When True Cross Order was established in Japan, they were the first to join. When Deep Keep was  
built, they were first in line for the privilege of guarding it. But the task was given the Todos: not an exorcist family then, and nowhere near as  
prestigious as Yaonaru; but renowned for hard work and dependability, as opposed to the Yaonarus." The vaguest hint of pride seeped into his  
voice. No rivalry? Oh yes, there was rivalry. He just wasn't as consumed by it as Kita. "I respect you for that, Fujimoto-kun."

"What?" No, really: what?

"Honda-kun spoke highly of your efforts when he asked me to share room with you", he said flatly, turning a page in his own book. "I didn't deem  
you suitable as an exorcist before, but your hard work is commendable. I respect that."

For once, Shiro's tongue was in a knot. Getting back at a snide remark came as easy as breathing: responding to praise… was something he'd  
never had to do before. His first response was suspicion, but that aside… what an unexpected opportunity…

"…thanks, I s'pose", he said, feeling very awkward about it. Shizuku was right: there was great difference between a Yaonaru and a Todo. "I think  
I misjudged you, too. I thought you were gonna be more like Kita-san." He allowed a good-natured chuckle at himself. "Good thing you're not.  
He tried to spill tea 'accidentally' over my essay, the night before it was due. Only had to re-write two or three pages, but still… I don't know  
about that ricocheting bullet. I mean; school rivalry, fine. It happens everywhere. But taking that kind of foul play to the field…?" he prodded.  
Anger or respect: different tools, same lock to pick. "Are they really capable of that?"

"In the interest of affirming their status, they are quite ruthless", he said flatly. "Whether it's emphasizing themselves or disabling competition."

"You're saying they would endanger others to make themselves look better?"

"I'm not saying anything of my fellow exorcists", Saburota said. "Only that there are indications in certain directions."

"_Good enough for me._" The pendulum swung even more in favour of Yaonaru as the responsible saboteurs. But still, what were they sabotaging?  
And why? Maybe Saburota could confirm a few other things he'd mulled over… "And all for a storage room in the basement", Shiro finished in  
light tones, putting on a mildly incredulous smile. "I know you're not allowed to talk about Deep Keep, but I can't help but be curious. It's the  
safest place in the country, they say. Just how heavily guarded is it?"

"Only the Vatican in Rome is more fortified. Deep Keep is two thousand feet below the centre of the Academy, which means it's protected by all  
the barriers around the school in addition to the ones in the Keep itself. Adding to that several armoured doors…"

Everything Saburota said after that passed Shiro like a faint breeze. He smiled amiably, tightened and flexed his stiff knuckles. At the centre,  
really? Inside all the barriers and labyrinths Mephisto had put in place; and, coincidentally, at the centre of Solomon's Seal? Well, well, if you're  
going to keep something locked away properly…

**A/N: Awright, it seems I just made things more complicated with my attempt at explaining. X'D So, to break it down to its very  
simplest form…**

**Inner fangirl interviewer: "So, Dimwit! No more nonsense and beating around the bush: will there be kissing?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "Yes." =3**  
**  
*Mephisto waves victory-flag in background***  
**  
Interviewer: "O-hohoho~! And will there be _more _than kissing…?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "Well… yes." *^_^***  
**  
*Shiro makes a run for it, and gets wrapped up in a huge liquorice band***  
**  
Interviewer: *holds tissue over nose* "It sounds exactly like a yaoi fic. Why didn't you just say that…?" 0_0'**  
**  
Dimwit: "'cause it's not – I think… It's complicated. I'm good at weaving in between conventional categories, okay?" *scratches  
back of head* ^_^' "I don't know myself exactly how to rate this, and whether it _is_ yaoi or not… you'll understand when we get  
there. It'll be worth it, promise." ;3**  
**  
Interviewer: "Can't get a straight answer from you, can I…? People wonder if Shiro will be 'introduced to the family'. Will he?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "I don't like spoiling stuff…"**  
**  
Interviewer: "Who said anything about spoiling? Just make their lives a tad bit more unbearable and hint. You know you want to;  
don't let temptation work overtime in vain."**  
**  
Dimwit: "Well… Mephisto might want to hide his crayons in the future." =P**  
**  
Interviewer: "That wasn't so hard, was it? Now, will there be blazing confessions of undying love? A priest hiding dark desires in  
the shadow of his faith, a demon cursing a human heart for feelings he shouldn't be able to have…?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "Er, no. I can't see either of them doing that, mostly because they won't need to say it aloud. As I wrote XxAlysxX, it will be  
a kind of 'official secret' between them. I think I compared them to symbiotic fungi… xP It's the kind of relationship that evolves  
over many years as people "grow" on each other. Even Shiro will have to admit that Mephisto means more to him that anyone  
else – but he'd rather eat a bullet than tell him that. Mephisto, well… he knows. ;P So no need for confessions."**  
**  
Interviewer: "I understand you've been torn regarding the ending…?"**  
**  
Dimwit: *squirms and grimaces* "A crude comparison would be having to decide whether or not to pull the plug on a comatose  
person… There are two possible endings, and I… I want to do one, but I _feel _I should do another, and the one I feel I should do  
is the one I'm not sure I can bear, and…" *collapses***  
**  
Interviewer: *prods with foot* "Overload of indecisiveness. I think the interview's over…"**


	38. 38: Overall, stupid

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"The Yaonarus are definitely capable of staging something like this." Shiro feinted and struck against Mephisto's knee. "More so than Todo, from  
what Shizu-san tells me. I'd like to get some time between four eyes with Agari-chan, but she's not the most friendly person around…"

"Your counting is as poor as your footwork." Mephisto parried a rapid combo of blows. "That's six eyes."

"Gimme a sec and I'll make it five." He thrust at the demon's face, slow enough that he could dodge for certain.

Sparring classes with Mephisto was a strange thing. He didn't look forward to them, but once there, he enjoyed himself on some uncharted,  
primal level. There's something about physical exercise that relieves both body and mind of study stress; motion over concentration, action  
over thought. Shiro may have had good resources in the cognitive department, but he knew what suited him best.

As his aptitude improved, another kind of sparring developed: Mephisto was one of very few – the only one, to be honest – who could give Shiro  
a match in bantering. Between blocks and feints and the sharp echoes of wood clashing with wood, they passed time with jibes. It made exercises  
much more difficult than they had to be, but by this time Shiro was used to pushing himself to stay in phase with his schedule. Besides, teases  
and jibes could be useful in other ways…

"You're powerful." Shiro whipped up his wooden blade to cover his side. "And you can handle a sword. Why aren't you in the field?"

"Exorcism is dirty work", he replied, countering Shiro's attacks with a casual grace that was the complete opposite of what Toshio-sensei taught.  
"I never did dirty work in Gehenna, and I'm not about to make a habit of it in Assiah."

That could be a reason, but Shiro was damn sure it wasn't _the _reason: the Vatican might accept a shepherd, but they wouldn't let a fighting dog  
into the sheep's paddock.

"Isn't it annoying?" he drawled, feeling for buttons to push. "To have to pretend you're some puny high-level demon and let yourself be bossed  
around by people weaker than you? I bet you didn't do that in Gehenna either, your highness", he added with a fine dusting of mockery.

"Don't taunt an opponent unless your technique is as sharp as your tongue~" In a single movement he'd broken Shiro's defence and had him at  
point blank. "Or maybe your focus will be sharper if your blade is…?" Mephisto snapped his fingers, and the weapon in Shiro's hand grew heavier.

"You want me to fight you with a real sword…?"

"It would be hard for you to block a real sword with a wooden one." Mephisto swung his shiny, _real_ katana in leisurely circles. "You might want  
to pay more attention to what you are doing now~"

No kidding. This was real fucking _steel_ – it could take an arm off if you failed to block. It could glance off a block and slice into a leg. And loads  
of other unpleasant things.

Shiro had always held a greater respect for blade weapons than firearms. With firearms you died quickly. And if the aim was a little off, you  
probably didn't die at all. A bullet wound was small and neat, and bleeding easy to stem. Swords weren't like that. Even if they struck true  
you'd have time to feel the blade go in, and feel yourself die. And if they didn't strike true, you'd die anyway simply because of blood loss. You  
didn't even have to be hit in a vital organ to be screwed. Swords were messy and dangerous, and painful, and…

"You can buy yourself free from the contract, if you like", Mephisto said in light tones, his blade whipping sparks from Shiro's. "I'm not  
unreasonable. Your soul can be yours again: all I ask is something of equal value~"

"Like what?" Shiro circled warily, ready to defend against the next hail of strikes. He wouldn't like the price. Not when Mephisto had that  
happy look on his face.

"If you don't want to be mine in death, you can be mine in life." He struck at Shiro's legs and was deflected. "A puppet." He followed the  
momentum through, twisting and cutting at his neck in one fluid motion. "A toy." Shiro blocked, and Mephisto held still long enough for him  
to see his grin flash sharper than the steel. "My very own pet~"  
_  
Pet_. Shiro angled his blade from defence to offence: he'd cut that delusion clean out of the demon's brain…

"Now that's more like it!" Mephisto's merry laughter bounced off the cavern walls as he fended off Shiro's cold, furious onslaught. "That's a pet  
more to my taste!" He sidestepped a straight stab and snagged Shiro's wrist with bony fingers. Sweet Jesus, it was like encasing your hand in  
concrete…! "That's how you should fight", he smiled down at him. His free hand teased Shiro's throat with the katana in reverse grip. "No need  
to hold back with me, little lion.* It's not your style anyway, is it~?" He let go and poised himself for a new round. "Again."

-

"You could'a just told me to fight harder, you know."

Shiro took a swig from the water bottle he'd made a habit of bringing. Mephisto had a demon's strength and didn't tire no matter how intense  
fights got, and consequently worked Shiro beyond his actual limits. Not that he complained: not anymore. His shirts fit tighter around his chest  
now, and his arms were looking more and more defined. Come summer, girls would worship him on the beach.

"It's a grave misconception that learning is done with one's head." Mephisto held a relaxed pose, katana resting over his shoulder in one hand and  
the other holding a lollipop. "The mind forgets in a day: the body remembers forever. Besides", he pointed the lollipop in Shiro's direction with a  
wrist-flick one could expect from a coy lady dismissing a compliment, "you wouldn't do as you were told anyway."

"True. Unlike you, I'm no dog." He rested his elbows on his knees, smiling impishly from where he sat on the balustrade. "The Vatican must really  
enjoy having you around: their own personal court jester…"

Mephisto bowed most graciously, as though what he had said was a compliment.

"You know that was a jibe, right?" Shiro said, picking his ear with his little finger in that manner he knew Mephisto detested.

"A poor one, then. The jester could be very influential at court", he said with a smile, crushing the lollipop between his teeth. "Nothing wrong in  
keeping the men of power in good humour."

Tch. How to make the clown rise to the bait, then? How annoying it was, not knowing the triggers…

"Your bedmate should settle for ordinary call girls, then: less expensive as pets." He might regret this. Regret it a lot. He didn't want to see that  
hellish malice on his face ever again… "How much did your services cost? Per century, or per night?"

"Price always corresponds to goods~" Not a trace of agitation: but a gleam entered his eyes that hadn't been there before. "You want to know  
the price Pius the seventh paid…?

Shiro kept his face straight, but cursed at himself inwardly. Teases and jibes were useful, alright: but they worked both ways, and he had just  
stumbled in his own pitfall. Mephisto was supposed to slip what he wanted to know, not figure out what he was trying to make him slip.

"There is a price for that, too~" he smirked, unperturbed. "A secret that changed the course of your life, a decision made on the brink of hell; a  
regret that eats you like rot inside." Hand on his hip, he pointed the tip of the katana casually at Shiro's face. "That is what Pius gave me, and  
that is the price to pass it on." He made a flourishing sweep with his unoccupied hand. "Quid pro quo."

"Alright: first of all, I want that thing out of my face", he said with a mix of annoyance and matter-of-factliness that he hoped would pass for  
composure. "_Think fast, think fast…_" He had no intention of sharing a secret like that with a demon. He didn't even know if he had one that  
would qualify. What he did know was that he was good at bluffing, and he might not have to tell Mephisto anything at all… "How about we  
play for it? Your sword against my gun, down at the target practice range: whoever misses first loses, and the loser has to tell the winner  
his secret?"

Mephisto's half-mast gaze calculated down the back of his sword, holding Shiro's.

"Fair enough." He sheathed the katana with that fluid motion Shiro had secretly been practicing but couldn't master. "Shall we?"

-

Ando-sensei had given him his own magical key to the practice range with hopes of stealing him from Matsuri-sensei. The lights yawned and  
blinked awake when he flipped the switch. To the general public it would look like a practice area for tennis, or maybe baseball. To Shiro, it  
was the best substitute for the night market when that was closed during winter. He smiled to himself. His name was ranked as number two  
on the scoreboard next to the coat hangers: number one was Komui Natsuya. Komui Natsuya… the Doctor-Dragoon that Agari had been with,  
right?

"_I'm getting beaten by a girl that doesn't even look like a girl…_" he grumbled.

Well, he wasn't about to beat a girl now. Mephisto claimed a wire-netted booth, whistling some new anime intro while Shiro went to get himself  
a gun. A hundred thoughts milled in his head as he made for the weapons lockers. Did Mephisto suspect he'd been following his trail as well as  
that of the saboteurs? If he did, he didn't seem to mind. Maybe Pius' promise was something entirely harmless, then? Shiro didn't really believe  
that, though. If price corresponded to goods, the cost for saving a church, restoring a nation and dethroning an emperor must be pretty damn  
high. A secret that changed the course of one's life, a decision made on the brink of hell, a regret that eats like rot…

"_Nope, wrong thing to worry about_", he told himself, selecting his usual handgun and as much ammo as he could carry. "_Just target practice,  
business as usual._"

"Well then! What difficulty do you prefer?" Mephisto smiled brightly, putting his bangs out of the way with little Hello Kitty clips. Shiro gawked.  
Maybe he was about to beat a girl after all…

"High, unlimited mode." He lined the ammunition magazines up on the shelf within comfortable reach. He'd tried special mode a few times to  
see if he could grab first rank, but he wasn't nailing everything a hundred percent on that one. High would have to do.

-

Shiro lost track of time completely. The world narrowed down to each whooshing high-speed ball and the hypnotic rhythm of _whoosh-bang_,  
_whoosh-bang_, _whoosh-bang_: and, with its own, separate rhythm, the _whoosh-zing_, _whoosh-zing _of Mephisto's katana. Shiro knew better than  
to look sideways and get nervous. Mind your own business; focus. Eventually the old goat would miss… Another mag emptied, a new one  
clicking in place before the old clattered to the ground. He could do this all night.

"Oi, late night shift, izzit?"

A whoosh, and the rattle of a ball hitting the net. _Whoosh-zing_, _whoosh-zing_ – dammit…! Part of Shiro wanted to turn the gun on Shizuku: why,  
of all times, did he have to come and ruin-

The machines geared down to a halt.

Awkward. Shizuku and Midori stood stock still in the doorway, now noticing that Shiro wasn't alone.

"Why, good evening~" Mephisto sheathed his katana with an easy smile. Of course, the only one not struck by the awkwardness was the one  
who made it all awkward. "I see you have no use for me as practice partner anymore. Enjoy yourselves, dear students. Auf Wiedersehen~"

Silence lingered a while longer after he poofed away. Why, _why _did they have to walk in on him right _now_? And what would he tell them? Midori  
was suspicious of Mephisto, Shizuku was suspicious of Mephisto…

"…was that Hello Kitty clips on 'is head…?"

"Afraid so", Shiro grinned, thankful for the casual opening. "Our principal might be a closet transvestite, but one that knows his way around a  
sword. Wanna take his place?" He nodded at the two wooden practice swords in Shizuku's duffel. Both he and Midori were Meistering in Knight.

"That's what we're here for." Shizuku put the bag on the bench and secured his sleeves. "Yer always hangin' out with the people I expect the  
least", he said. "Now the principal? How did that happen?"

"By accident, sort of. I was called in as witness in the Vatican when he was summoned for a hearing last year. So we ended up spending  
Christmas with no other company than each other." He shrugged. "He's queer as a clockwork orange, but not half bad to be around. Got  
a real sweet tooth. You wouldn't believe how much chocolate he ate for Christmas."

Shizuku seemed to buy it wholesale. Midori, not so much. Not at all. She hadn't moved, hadn't spoken: all the joy and laughter had left her,  
leaving a faded, hollow husk. When she eventually spoke, he hardly recognized it as her voice:

"Stupid, Shiro-kun. Very, very stupid. He is no person to joke around with." Gone was the pitter-patter of summer rain, the playful sunlight in  
her words, the spark that made her Midori. "His smile is dagger, always. His words, string of steel that binds and cuts." Midori took him by the  
shoulders, earnesty and urgency seeping into her voice. "I know demons, weak and strong, Shiro-kun. Him… If he ordered me to slit my throat,  
I would not dare disobey him."

"Oi, what did I miss? What's up with Pheles?" Shizuku looked bewildered, to say the least.

"Don't ask me, I barely know the guy. Hey, Midori-chan, are you okay?" He removed her hands from his shoulders, holding them gently. If only  
it had been in a different situation… "Do you know what's wrong with Pheles?"

He had to ask, if only to keep up appearances. But he already knew.

The power of habit is great, but the danger of habit is greater. The human mind can adapt to almost any conditions, bad as well as good. Midori  
was half demon herself, and saw things in demons that were invisible to human eyes: whether invisible to the senses, or invisible to a mind that  
had grown adapted.

Shiro knew he had adapted when he saw that look on her face. That's what his own face _should_ look like. Mephisto was not a person to joke around  
with.

"_He only makes it look like he is…_" A court jester, alright: but the joke was on the court, and they didn't even know it.** "_Is that what you're smiling  
about all the time…?_"

Once the thought was there, it wasn't going away. It gained momentum, tearing down the blinds and letting in the light of clarity. You couldn't  
move among humans as a demon if that's what they saw you as. Mephisto needed people to let their guard down around him. He needed the  
Vatican behind him to make people view him as nothing more than a peculiar pet on a secure leash. He needed the Vatican itself to believe he  
was collared and tame so they wouldn't mistrust him. A hundred and sixty-seven years in their service since Pius VII would cloud many eyes  
with the veil of habit.

"A human can't imagine… what it is to gaze upon someone like him…" Shiro blinked back to the present, where Midori took slow, graceful steps  
in what looked like a ritual dance. "Some demons can freeze heart with breath. Some turn heads inside out with a touch." Round and round  
she went, where Mephisto had stood. Her hands traced patterns in the air, as if catching invisible dandelion seeds. "Some burn like distant stars,  
others burn like wildfire. He is like none of those." Midori slowed to a halt, gradually lowering her heels back to the floor. "I wish I didn't know  
a demon like him existed."

"This is creepin' me out", Shizuku muttered, shaking his head. "I suspected he was bad, but he's _that _bad?"

"I don't know: we're talking about a guy who wears Hello Kitty hairclips…"

-

He didn't think he'd succeeded very well in putting their worries at rest. Well, worrying about them wasn't his first priority. Himself, on the other  
hand…

Shiro paced a turn around his dorm instead of going in, unable to shake the creeping suspicions. What bothered him the most was that he was  
so relaxed around Mephisto. That meant he was falling for his act, even when he knew it was an act – or was likely to be an act, at any rate.  
And he really _shouldn't _be at ease around him. He'd seen what Mephisto could be like, he'd had his soul taken hostage by the bastard: why in  
all heavens didn't he feel more threatened by him?

Midori and Ryuuji could bias one's feelings. Could Mephisto…? Well, he _was _a demon, and a powerful one at that. Yet Shiro hadn't felt any of the  
sort around him. That you don't notice an influence doesn't mean there isn't one: on the contrary, the most dangerous kind of influence is the  
one you don't notice. He _could _be under some sort of head-twisting, demonic spell without knowing it, bothersome as that thought was…

Unbidden, the image of Mephisto's drawing popped up in his thoughts and triggered a sudden burst of laughter. He took the cigarette from his  
lips and let it grow into a full-scale roar of laughter, echoing between the million stars. Oh, might as well! It _was _funny. Crazy, dangerous, stupid,  
funny – the kind of things he'd always been drawn to…

"_Just what are you, Mephisto?_" He grinned despite himself, the two sides of the principal repelling each other like oil and water in his mind.  
"_Well, you're unlike anything else, that's for sure…_"

*** Mephisto got it right where Shizuku didn't: the kanji for Shiro's name spells _lion _and _son_. I thought it would be a cute (and fitting)  
nickname, "little lion"… =3**

**** What came to mind here was a short-story called _Hop-Frog_, by Edgar Allan Poe. I read his works a lot as a child (no idea why  
my parents gave me that kind of stuff – it came with illustrations not fit for an eight year-old), and if you're gonna view Mephisto  
as a jester or a court fool, I think that's the kind of pranks he'd play… =X**


	39. 39: Birthdays and gifts

**A/N: I had one done and the rest are lacking their vital sentences, but oh well...** **They will show up as soon as they're done.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

He really should be studying. He had a stack of application papers rivalling the girth of _Comprehensive Demonology of the 21__st__ Century_,  
and he needed his grades top-notch if any of them was going to reward him a scholarship. He needed to put every waking hour into  
accomplishing that. Actually, what he needed was a bloody miracle.

Shiro sighed, put his pencil down, rubbed his eyes. When he opened them, they fell on the donkey Shizuku had carved for him. The pilgrim  
didn't even know how right he was… His thoughts clicked. Gift. Shizuku. _Birthday_.

"_Oh bloody…!_" He threw on a jacket, sped through the corridor, down the stairs… "_I'm an ass, I'm an ass, I'm an ass… just wish I could run  
like one…_"

He took flights of stairs four steps at a time, the half-remembered address rattling around in his head.

"_Mistletoe_ _Street_, _something… some karaoke bar, down by-_"

He swung himself over a banister and made a cool-looking roll when he landed a meter or two down in the flowerbed: that was the plan, at  
least. Just in case some hot girl was secretly meeting with her boyfriend and needed to know there were better goods on the market.

"Sorry, are you- Did you get a concussion, or should I try again?" Ew. He'd almost uttered an apology to Kita Yaonaru. And some other dude  
he hadn't landed on.

"Who is that?"

The other dude looked a bit familiar… it was dark, but… oh, yeah: same look of snotty self-importance, same lanky build, same annoying tone.  
That could only be Yaonaru Akihiro, Kita's older brother.

"That's Fujimoto Shiro", Kita growled, shoving him aside and dusting himself off. "The orphan I was talking about."

"He does have the mouth of an unwashed street rat." Akihiro was _not_ as lanky as Kita, now that Shiro got a closer – too close – look. The  
Dragoon had him by a firm grip on his jacket lapels. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same", he replied, sounding exquisitely untroubled by almost being lifted from the ground. "I didn't know Kita-san dated."

"A rat with a clever mouth", he drawled, a dangerous note of steel in his voice. "And you will make good use of it. We need to have a little talk."

"And you need to see a doctor", he smiled and headbutted him on the bridge of his nose. It made a very satisfying sound.

Shiro tore free and darted off towards True Cross Town, faster than before, not bothering to check if he was being tailed or not. He could  
probably have gotten very useful information from the exchange, but there was also a high probability he'd be eating soup for the rest of his  
life. He would have to figure it out some other way. Maybe it was about time he beat Kita up…

-

Shiro arrived sweaty, dishevelled, short of breath, and wouldn't have been let into the karaoke bar if Midori hadn't been down in the street-floor  
restaurant to get food. Shiro wished he'd been a woman: all she did was smile at the doorkeeper, and every thought of code and regulations  
evaporated visibly from the man in a heart-shaped cloud.

"Sorry man…! I forgot, but… I'm here now… so… happy birthday…!" Shiro captured Shizuku in a bear hug when Midori had escorted him to  
their karaoke lounge: a comfy, cosy room with couches and two tables, just big enough for the handful of people there. "Really, I was busy  
studying, so I haven't… haven't gotten you anything… except Yaonaru Akihiro's blood", he added, seeing the stain he'd managed to smudge  
on Shizuku's shirt.

"That the friend ye were telling me 'bout? I like 'im", a female voice said.

Shiro turned and was greeted by a petite little thing in traditional clothing, smiling up at him like a pixie. What a sweetie. And what curves.

"I'll be even more likeable after a wash – but I'm very likeable while washing, too, if you'd prefer that."

"Sounds ta me like ye could take one pine in each end, bigmouth~" she smiled sweetly.

"Well", Shizuku grinned, putting an arm around the she-devil, "meet my big sis Kasumi."

"The woman just kicked me in the nuts: think you could look a little more smug…?"

"Would I nevah", she grinned: same grin she wore in Shizuku's old photography. "Not one who clouted Masamaru-san's eldest right in 'is  
ugly mug."

"I know ye better than ta think ye'd be joking", Shizuku said, examining the stain. "How is the bastard?"

"He'll be fine: his nose won't."

Shizuku and Kasumi cracked the same kind of hearty, unrestrained laughter in different octaves.

"That's the best birthday present evah! Yaonaru Akihiro's nose!" she guffawed, hanging on Shizuku for support as much as he hung on her.

-

It was a great evening. It was the kind of evening you don't really remember: you just get a warm, snug feeling in your chest whenever you  
think of it. The lounge was a big one, deep red and black in colour, with several tables and cosy sofas lining the walls. When Midori understood  
how the microphone worked there was no getting her away from the karaoke. And whoever got a few drinks in Ryuuji did him a great favour:  
he gathered courage enough to pick up the other microphone, and his voice and Midori's mingled like tea and honey. Sen found a Futotsuki  
cousin among the guests, Kasumi told stories from her travels, Shizuku joined in with anecdotes that had them both break down in laughter.

"…and then 'e was scared o' butterflies 'til 'e was at least twelve!"

"Well whaddaya think?" He tried to look grumpy, but failed miserably. "Ye caught one by the wings, showed me that trunk an' told me they  
used it ta suck ye' brains outta yer ear. I was only eight!"

"Old enough ta know I'd be pullin' ye' leg", she chuckled around the fragrant miswak* she had started chewing after the meal.

Seeing Shizuku and Kasumi was… strange. Shiro couldn't quite pinpoint what the sensation was. He had a feeling they were both laughing  
before they had told the joke; had finished each other's sentences before they started talking. He and Shizuku shared many laughs, but this…  
this was something he could never compete with. It was as if the siblings were the same being, split in two bodies. Wonder what it was like,  
to have somebody you'd known your whole life...

"Why don't you have any junk in your face?"

Shiro would never talk like that to a girl, but Kasumi… wasn't like other girls. She didn't smile: she grinned.** She didn't sit: she lounged.  
And whatever foul-mouthed things he said, she could call his vocabulary and raise by ten.

"Can't drag 'round unnecessary luggage." Kasumi pulled her collar down to show a black warding symbol on her collarbone. "I stayed a while  
with the Futotsukis an' got 'em in my skin instead."

She might not act like a girl, but she sure had some nice boobs…

"Oh, I almost fe'got. Hang on…" She dug around the numerous little pockets she had sewn into her belt and clothes. "Somewhere… here!  
Shizzy told me demons take a shine te ya, but with this baby ye'll be 's attractive as cat shit."

"Yeah, doesn't that sound tempting…?"

Kasumi held out a simple necklace for him: a little wooden star on a thong, crafted with the care of a bloodline artisan. Accepting it with a small  
bow of his head, Shiro turned it over for inspection. No warding symbols anywhere, just a geometrical shape… He tried counting the points but  
got lost over and over. Too much sake, probably…

"…fight, ye know."

Most peoples' ears perk up instinctively when they hear their names; Shiro's perked up when there was talk of fighting.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. What fight?"

"The Futotsuki clan's experiencing a li'l civil unrest in the ranks; 's why I brought Kohaku-kun with me." Kasumi stabbed a thumb in the  
direction of the two Futotsukis. "'e wanted ta join the Order, but his mum wouldn't let 'im. It's moving towards the point where we'll have  
two Futotsuki clans: one with the Order, an' one fighting 'gainst it." She took the twig out of her mouth and sipped some water – like  
Shizuku, she wouldn't touch alcohol. "They threatened cuttin' his seal, an' that's pretty severe punishment over there. These people  
mean business." She put her glass down with a decisive clank. "An' I mean ta take the business ta the top dog 'imself."

"Yer gonna talk ta Pheles?" Shizuku's eyebrows rose.

"Did teday", she smiled, twirling the root between her fingers. "'e wasn't what I'd expected. Charming fella', fer a demon. More well-  
mannered than many humans." She winked at Shiro, who carefully masked how hard that one hit. He was second to _Mephisto_…?

"Ye didn't tell me Pheles was a demon when I said I was gonna enrol at True Cross."

"Ye'd find that out anyway, wouldn'tcha?" she replied with the look only a smug elder sibling can have.

Shizuku huffed through a smile.

"Still lettin' me pick the nettles ta know they sting, huh? So how was 'e?"

"I told 'im 'e's probably the only one who can straighten things out with the Futotsuki. The Order sends an exorcist representative ta  
negotiate an' he'll come runnin' back with half his ass eaten off by familiars. They send a _demon_ ta negotiate…" She spread her hands and  
made a face that said _problem solved_. "Ye gotta stroke the dog the right way. He agreed with that, said 'e'd find the time ta go there as  
soon as 'e could."

"I mean how was _he_?" Shizuku repeated. "Is the Vatican right in trusting 'im?"

Kasumi shrugged.

"'e's been with the Vatican's long as anyone can rememba': hasn't torn down Saint Peter's yet."

"That half-demon girl, Midori-chan", he nodded his head in the direction of Midori, who was trying to get Sen to sing a duet. "When she met  
Pheles, I tell ye her ears touched 'er shoulders. She was scared shitless, man. Said she wished she didn't know a demon like 'im existed."

"Ain't gonna argue with a half-demon on that – she's got 'er wits about 'er, that girl. Now, I wouldn't pick a fight with 'im, either, but I figured  
from the start 'e wouldn't be yer average joker. If the Vatican's gonna keep a guardian dog they'll wanna keep one that can bite", Kasumi  
observed in relaxed tones. "Leave the worries, Shizzy: it's ye' birthday! Oi, everybody!" she shouted over her shoulder. "How 'bout getting'  
the birthday boy up on stage fer a lil' singin'? Sounds like when 'e snores, just louder!"

-

It took quite a few drinks to get Shiro up to sing. The exact number was never established, but it was approximately when he'd lost count three  
times and saw the same amount of eyes on people he looked at. At that point he was as good at singing as Shizuku was. Not that he minded:  
howling Iwasaki Hiromi off-key with a Midori who laughed too hard to stand was about as good as life could get.

-

Shiro was still singing when he hobbled down the corridor, took the wrong door twice and eventually found his room. Sweet as cake; now, if  
only the floor would stop moving long enough for him to catch his bed…

The thump when he hit the desk might not have woken Saburota up, but the crash of the chair tipping certainly did.

"Fujimoto…?" He lit his bed lamp and reached for his glasses. "What is…? You're _drunk_."

"No, I'm plastered", he grinned. How was it again…? Feet on the floor first, and then you used your hands to… "I don't care what they say, man:  
Midori-tschan likes me. She's so cute, you wouldn't believe…" Coordinating feet, hands and speech was too much: Shiro slumped back to the  
floor with a surprised grunt.

"You're a disgrace", Saburota frowned.

Shiro did have a good response for that. Somewhere.

"I hope you're proud of the connotations you give the True Cross Academy uniform when you wear it in public like this", Saburota said in icy  
tones, brusquely hauling him to his feet.

"…you should have a… a b'nana through yer 'ead", Shiro grinned drunkenly, leaning heavily on Saburota. "Then at least you'd _look _fun…"

"You have had enough _fun _for today." He dumped him unceremoniously on the bed. "Sleep it off. We are going to talk about this tomorrow."

*** A miswak is a twig from the tree/shrub _Salvadora persica_, traditionally used as a toothbrush in many places across the  
world – not so much in the West, though, except by oddballs here and there. |-P *guilty* They do work excellently, though.**

**** First time I ever make practical use of sociolinguistics. =P One peculiarity in certain social circles of (contemporary)  
Japanese women is a slightly altered pronunciation caused by speaking while trying not to show too much teeth: being too  
frivolous in showing teeth is considered un-feminine. I have no idea if this applied forty years ago (or if it applies now, what  
with the rapidly changing fashion and all) but it does sound like a plausible convention, and I figure it was even more  
important back then for women to stick to a feminine ideal. Unless you're Honda Kasumi.**

**-**

A/N:

**Interviewer: "Welcome back, Dimwit! The latest AnE-chapter didn't screw your plot, then."**  
**  
Dimwit: "I haven't even opened my mouth; how did you know that?" 0.0'**  
**  
Interviewer: *gestures around* "I'm in your head, you know. And I'm still here. Knowing your unhealthy perfectionist tendencies,  
if canon had ganked your fic you would've flushed it down the drain and started over from scratch."**  
**  
Dimwit: "No I wouldn't…"**  
**  
Interviewer: "Yes. You would. But we're still here – so! I hear you set a new personal track record?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "Yeah, you know: too much happiness in the system can't be healthy in the long run… =^w^= I _was _afraid that everything  
would turn external crêpe (= turns out so bad it disintegrates out of embarrassment of its own existence), but when I had read ch  
39 I virtually danced around the track. Rather than ganking my ideas, "Mephisto" actually _confirmed _them – _all _of them… ('cept  
the name, but that's already been taken care of)! *high-fives Midori* I was prepared for changing ch 25 in the future, o-hohoho,  
won't have to~! x3 On that note, it gave me green light for changing a little detail in ch 12 that you might want to check before –  
approximately – chapter 48 or 49."**  
**  
Interviewer: "What's so special about those?"**  
**  
Dimwit: "That marks the end of the first arc." =0w0=** **"I have something special planned for the occasion, of course~"**  
**  
Interviewer: "Oh~? Knowing you, that's not too far away."**  
**  
Dimwit: "No… but I'll have a lot of school work in between. And birthdays." =^_^=**  
**  
Interviewer: "Not that anybody here would benefit from knowing, but birthdays generally mean that Dimwit makes some sort  
of twisted, artistic cake over two days' time. You can't do that this year, you know. You've got exams."**  
**  
Dimwit: *faceplants on desk*  
**

**P.S. One last thing, for the geek-beyond-salvation: recall the scene where "Mephisto" seats Rin at the table for their little chat…?  
Noticed those folded napkins? That's a variation of a napkin folding called "The Pope's Hat", if my eyes don't betray me (coincidence?  
No~).**

**…and why on earth do I know such things? Ó.ò D.S.**


	40. 40: Memories and manners

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

A secret that changed the course of your life, a decision made on the brink of hell; a regret that eats you like rot inside.

"_As if normal people have secrets like that…!_"

He chewed his cigarette as he walked the familiar steps up to Mephisto's office, the hangover churning faintly in the back of his head.  
Could he make up a secret…? Probably not. Wouldn't want to be caught trying to trick _him_.

"So~" Oh, great. The cat had already eaten the canary and was ready for dessert, if the look on his face was any indication. "Got a debt  
to settle?"

"Tch. Lemme get in through the door at least." He shuffled past Mephisto without looking at him, over to their usual training spot. "And I need  
my smoke, so give that back, will you?" He held out his empty hand.

At first he'd thought it was pure forgetfulness – wouldn't put that past his sleep-deprived brain. But as his lighter kept disappearing during  
swords practice, and reappearing again after swords practice, he suspected it was less forgetfulness and more sorcery.

Mephisto crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side with a bored look. No, not bored. More of a question, and a little bit of a…

"Give me my lighter, _please_?" Shiro rephrased, complying rather than making the fuss he'd usually do. No need to make it harder than it had  
to be…

Mephisto's lips stretched in a satisfied grin. He snapped his fingers, and the lighter landed in Shiro's palm. Then he snapped his fingers again,  
and sat back in a horrid armchair with his hands folded and legs crossed.

"_Tch…_" Well, let him get comfy in his floating furniture. Shiro sat down on the balustrade and lit his smoke. "_Whatever it takes…_"

He let the smoke out slowly. There was only one secret to tell, really. One he'd endeavoured to keep secret from himself for quite some time.

"My mom was a housewife", he began, watching the red glow of the cigarette. If he just pretended he was talking to himself, maybe… "My dad  
was in the industry, some high position of sorts – we were well off, anyway. Dad was… nice, I guess. Successful, responsible, had many friends  
and all that. Then when I came home from school one day, I saw him with a woman I didn't know." He blew out a fan of smoke. "Hiromi-san she  
was called, mom told me." His lips quirked into a smile that wasn't a smile. "She even knew her name…" Focus, dammit: don't make it harder than  
it had to be… "Mom kept cooking dinner and smiling and asking how his day at work had been, just like always. She sprinkled sesame seeds over  
my rice, like always. Nothing changed, and everything changed." He tapped ashes off in the water. "You can't hide something like that from a kid.  
She hated it. She hated every minute of it, and still she kept performing some sick, god-awful theatre, every day. Him, too. Pretended like nothing,  
smiled his smile as always and pretended everything was fine when he came home late, or didn't come home at all: he even said he would break  
it off, time and again, said he wouldn't see her anymore…" Be the master of your emotion, acknowledge the darkness, don't let it take control…  
Shiro exhaled the tension in his throat with the smoke. "Hiromi-san did disappear, eventually. When she was done swindling all our money. Turned  
out dad had been borrowing from the company, even. So we were broke and out of work, the family name shamed despite mom's attempts to  
save face. So she killed herself." The words were so light in his mouth, like the slightly compressed air they were. It didn't feel like his lips  
speaking them. It felt like someone else… "At her funeral, I didn't pick a single bone from the ash.* Dad was a mess. He blamed himself, he  
drank, he ranted, never got another job." Shiro stroked the smooth surface of the lighter with his thumb. "And one day when I got home, he  
wasn't there. I didn't think much of it – didn't miss him. Then the next day, the police come and tell me dad's been run over by a train. Whether  
he jumped, or he was drunk and fell…" He took the cigarette from his lips, watched the almost burnt-out glow at the tip and felt the restless  
fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. "I attacked the policemen with a kitchen knife. Shock and grief, the shrink called it – no, I was just pissed  
out of my mind. Pissed that he'd killed himself before I could kill him."

Some words aren't just compressed air: they have soul, weight, shape – taste, even. The taste of something old and rotten, left for oblivion to  
feast on until only those sharp, hard bones remain in the subconscious.

"_I truly would have killed him…_"

People at the orphanage had learnt not to talk about his parents. They all thought his temper flared because he was ashamed of how they had  
died. Tch…

"I still wish they were alive", he confessed to himself, amazed that his voice sounded so steady. "Both of them. I'd kill both of them if they were."  
Spineless bastards, weaving a world of self-justifying lies, neither better than the other… "The night that tengu tried to snatch me, it spoke to me.  
'Such a ruthless boy, not even mourning your own parents', it said. What's there to mourn, when they were just masks with painted smiles?" The  
butterflies in his belly fluttered out into his blood vessels and fanned a strange, choking excitement; not unlike the feeling of picking a lock in  
broad daylight. "It's true that I'm ruthless. It's true I'm not a good person. I never mourned my parents." Truth: so fearsome from afar, but  
when held up for scrutiny like this… No, he wasn't a good person. He'd never mourned his parents, nor was he ashamed of how they'd died:  
he'd been ashamed of how he wished they'd died. Ashamed of the truth he'd never shared with anyone. "They say no fire can burn forever",  
he tapped off more ashes from the cigarette, "but it's burnt a long time alright. I can't remember what kind of kid I was before it – all I know  
is I wasn't the same. I got out on the streets, out into picking locks and stealing and fighting. I decided I wouldn't hide it, wouldn't deny it:  
wouldn't smile and keep the show going, like they did. I decided that if I was a ruthless bastard, I'd be a ruthless bastard." That weird smile  
quirked his lips again. "As for regret, I don't really have any. The only thing I regret is that I didn't get the chance to kill them. How's that for  
settling a debt?"

No feat of strength had ever been as taxing as lifting his head and looking Mephisto in the eye. But he had to. He had to tell him that last,  
wordless secret: that he didn't miss the kid he'd once been. That ruthlessness was as much part of his nature as the colour of his eyes, and  
he embraced it without hesitation or shame.

Mephisto's face was hard to read, of course: it was meant to be. 'His smile is dagger, always'…

"The debt is settled~" Tch, even his voice was hard to read… "And the story of mankind turns yet another page to the same old chapter." He  
uncrossed his legs, and with a snap of his fingers he changed into his silly-looking hakama. "Now, to put that killing intent to the test~"

Mephisto's ears twitched, as if reached by an irritating sound.

"A ward has been compromised", he frowned, sheathing his katana. "Excuse me for a moment."

What to do, when spare time drops on your lap like that? In Shiro's case it was obvious: you catch a few minutes of sleep.  
He flopped down in the ugly chair. It didn't fly with him. Pity.

"_Yaonaru, Futotsuki, or Agari…_" He let his head fall back to rest against the back of the armchair. Mephisto would look into the Futotsuki  
matter. Yaonaru was conducting shady business. Agari… he would have to talk to.

Shiro's head rolled sideways, looking for some way of approaching her without seeming to be probing. The best way would probably be…

…ice-cream? Down here? No, just the handle of Mephisto's awful umbrella sticking up from behind the armrest. A smile tugged the corner of  
Shiro's mouth. Heavens knew where Mephisto got all his stuff from.

"_I can't imagine any shop selling something like th-_"

The instant he grabbed the handle, it flew out of his hand. Literally. Shiro stared up at a huge, pink bat that fired an ear-shattering screech at  
him. And dove.

He rolled out of the chair and ducked under the next air strike: the claws missed their mark, but the ice-cream-tipped tail struck stars into his  
field of vision. Shiro staggered to his feet and lunged for his sword.

"_I probably shouldn't kill his familiar_", he realized, grasping the handle just in time to deflect the sharp head-spike the bat tried to impale him on.  
"_But it's damn set on killing me._"

He dodged its massive, pink wings as the demon attempted to halt its momentum, and got himself smoothly in range for its claws. It shrieked  
with glee and snagged him.

"_Well, doesn't this seem familiar?_" he snorted as he was hauled into the air with a powerful beat of the demon's wings. "_At least it's just the  
shirt this time._" Not waiting for the bat to realize that, he tore the front of his shirt open and lifted his arms to slip out of- "_Wait, I'm high up in…!_"

Shiro plummeted into the water with the elegance of a one-winged albatross.

"_And thinking doesn't go bloody well at all in Shiro-kun…!_" he yelled at himself, checking the impulse to gasp as the sudden cold bit goose  
bumps into his bare skin.

A water surface is a gate to another world: one of silence, and darkness, and timeless absence of gravity. The translucent blackness chased the  
silver bubbles to the surface like a school of panicked herring. Shiro kept himself underwater, where the light from the lanterns was just bright  
enough to let him navigate to the protecting edge of a platform. Arms and legs cut sluggishly through the cold. His head ached from cold, his  
face numbed, and little bubbles of air leaked from his lips. The air hadn't been so cold: the water… it must come from an underground stream or  
something.

Shiro kept his lips tightly shut as he slowly let his face above the surface, lest he shudder and make a sound. The bat swooped in circles,  
scanning the water for traces of its prey and screeching like a banshee.

"My my, can't take my eyes off you even for a minute…" The bat made a sharp turn, flying back to its master and perching on his outstretched  
hand like a falconry bird. Mephisto cocked his head, as if listening. "Well, he's an uncivilized monkey", he answered the shrieks and chirps of the  
bat. "One can't expect a human to understand manners." He put his other hand to his hip, and the disinterested gaze moved to Shiro. "This  
specimen in particular has a profound lack of such."

"Wh-wh-who's lack-cking m-m-manners?" he clattered, keeping himself afloat with arms that could just as well have been senseless driftwood.  
"It at-t-t-tacked me!"

"And for good reason: taking hold of a demon's tail is a very grave transgression of etiquette."

"I did-d-d-dn't know it was a b-b-bloody demon!" he snarled, barely feeling his lips. "And you d-do it all the t-t-time!"

"I'm his master: I can do whatever I please."

"Fine – just get m-m-me out of here!"

"The question is; would that please me…?"

Shiro shot him a murderous glare. Playing hard to get now? _Now_?

"Oi, I know you're sm-m-miling on the ins-s-side, you c-clown! If you d-d-don't-t get me outta here right-t-t now I'll catch pneum-m-monia  
again, and this t-time I swear I'll cough on you!"

The platform edge was too high to climb. Mephisto knew damn well it was too high to climb.

"Tsk tsk, poor manners indeed~"

It's unclear how such an instinct could have remained through countless generations of evolution striving towards survival, but Shiro did ponder  
if drowning was a better option than saying "please".

"_Shizuku would love carving my grave marker: 'and he died as he lived: in stupidity'_." Screw dignity, then. "P-p-p-leas-se get me up."

Mephisto cocked his head with a pleasant smile.

"I distinctly remember a very rude insinuation concerning my relations to the Vatican…?"

"_Oh sure, rattle off the whole list while you're at it…!_" Never mind that he couldn't feel his feet, hands, or lower arms. "I ap-p-pologize for  
comp-paring y-you with a c-c-call girl."

"And I seem to recall some unjustified accusations of eavesdropping…?"

Mephisto had very good memory: that was the only positive thing Shiro had to say about him at the moment. He was halfway into hypothermia  
when the umbrella-bat was finally sent to pull him out of the water. It dropped him unceremoniously on the pavement, where he staggered  
awkwardly on his quaking legs and numb feet, hugged his violently shivering body, and wished he could spontaneously grow fur.

"Thank you kindly", he said in a voice as dripping cold as his toes.

"Hmm-m, perhaps we should work on sincerity once we have established some manners~?" Mephisto smiled and snapped his fingers.

The sopping wet trousers unlatched from his legs and were replaced by… nothing. A very big, very fluffy, and very bright bathrobe enveloped him.

"_He really did take purple this time_", he thought, distracting himself from the fact that Mephisto had also poofed away his underwear. He pulled  
the heavenly soft, warm garment tighter around himself. "What d-did you do to m-m-my clothes?"

"It wouldn't be commendable for a gentleman to leave you in wet clothes, nor would it be healthy for you to wear them: I sent them to the  
laundry room in your dorm."

Gentleman, after leaving him in the water like that? What a hypocrite… but if Shiro said that aloud, he might lose the bathrobe too…

"C-couldn't-t-t you have sen m-me with them? You expect me t-t-to keep-p-p training like this?" He flapped the arms of the bathrobe  
demonstratively and earned a surprisingly disapproving face: namely, the combined effect of ears pulling downwards along with his thin  
eyebrows, and a discreet vibration in the hair curl.

"A certain young lady has rewarded you a gift, it would seem: a great stellated dodecahedron."** A what…? But now that he mentioned it,  
the star pendant Kasumi had given him was still around his neck. Couldn't poof that away, could he…? "If you wish to be reunited with your  
clothes I recommend you take that off. It makes my teeth tingle", Mephisto added, crinkling his nose in disgust.

"You could just poof my dry c-c-clothes here." He'd gotten his will through enough for one day. Now it was Shiro's turn.

"You forget that I haven't seen where you keep your clothes", he replied. "Either you take that offensive thing off, or you walk back as  
you are."

Walking back to the dorm, buck naked underneath a purple bathrobe with the principal's monogram on it… Shiro would've laughed  
hysterically if he hadn't been shivering so badly. Imagining Saburota's face almost made it worth it. Almost.

"Fine", he grinned through clattering teeth, still visualizing the dumbstruck students as he lifted the thong over his head. "But I want it back."

"No need to fear I would keep such a thing."

He held it out to Mephisto, but it was the umbrella-bat that snatched it and flew away. Come to think of it, it had attacked him even when  
he wore it…

"How come he can take it and not you? Weren't you supposed to be powerful…?"

"You compare _me _to a karakasa obake?*** A Prince, to a trifling little house spirit?" Mephisto's hair-curl twitched indignantly, and the scowl  
deepened. "Tsukumogami are so low-level they can only possess inanimate household objects: they are hardly even worth making charms  
against. Kasumi-chan's charm is designed to block the magic of much higher ranked demons."

Shiro made a mental note to target Mephisto's royal ego next time he wanted to annoy him. Apparently, Princes in the demon world disliked  
comparisons with "lower classes" as much as human princes used to.

"Well, sucks for you, your highness. Could you poof me to the dorm now?"

"It's not called 'poof'. It's…"

Now, that was unusual: Mephisto never got his tongue in a knot. He seemed as surprised as Shiro was – and annoyed.

"It's what?" Shiro asked curiously.

"Human language doesn't have a proper word for it."

"It has now: poof", he grinned.

Mephisto looked like he'd eaten something he didn't want to eat but was too well-mannered to spit out.

"You have absolutely no sense of style."

"Coming from a guy who dresses like a Renaissance drag queen? You can go poof yourse-"

*poof~*

*** Checking up on Japanese funeral customs was quite the experience. I'm not going to bother you with the whole list, but after  
the body is cremated the relatives pick the bones from the ash using chopsticks, and put them in the burial urn. This is also the  
only time it's okay for two people to hold the same object (a femur would require that, I imagine) with chopsticks: do it with  
food and you're committing a grave err in etiquette. (Alright, maybe you knew that, but I didn't...)**

**** Well, if you're going to research… First of all: a charm that can limit Mephisto? Hard to find. =X Going back to Göthe's ****_Faust_****,  
we're told that he is sealed in Faust's house by a Druid's/Wizard's Foot (not SSB-Ganondorf's attack… though I am a little  
tempted to draw fanart of that…), more commonly known as a pentagram. I didn't feel like hanging a pentagram around Shiro's  
neck, it feels far too simple for someone like Mephisto… But geometry is interesting in its own, and has a long history with  
trapping/directing energies in many cultures worldwide. So I picked up on the King of Time (and Space?) notion and went into  
four-dimensional geometry to find a fitting charm. A four-dimensional representation of the pentagram would be the great stellated dodecahedron: difficult enough to pronounce, good enough to "seal" the wearer from Mephisto's ability to bend time (1 dimension)  
and space (3 dimensions). x'D Probably not canon… but anyway… give me some credit for dedication…?**  
**  
I'm not saying Kasumi knew who Mephisto is: all I'm saying is she would give Shiro a charm that could protect him from most  
of the things (stronger) demons can get up to. And I like annoying Mephisto as much as Shiro does… =^w^=  
**  
***** Tsukomogami are any household item that has gained a life of its own through, well, long living: supposedly 100 years (who  
can maintain an umbrella for that long…?), and they can be anything from straw sandals to umbrellas. The latter are more specifically  
called karakasa obake.**


	41. 41: Knight in shining bathrobe

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Bending space is for demons: humans don't take well to that kind of transport. Aside from the uncomfortable feeling that all cells in his body were a  
little askew, Shiro had no idea where he was. He hadn't expected Mephisto to actually drop him in the dorm, with that remark… Worth it, though.  
His irritated face was superbly addictive. Now, to get back on familiar territory… He was still on the steep mountain of concrete and jutting brick  
structures that was True Cross Academy, but other than that…

Shiro started walking, shoeless. His feet were numb enough not to be bothered with the hard, cold ground anyway. And if he did get sick, he had  
a promise to fulfil~

Oh, if he'd only had his cigarettes… it was a night made for walking. The sky was dark, without the chill translucence of winter, and spring was  
budding along the walkways. It was the kind of night you could walk through dreams, walk until the edge of the world burned with vibrant birdsong.  
Soon the night market would open, with lights and music and takoyaki and oden… and dates with Midori… He smiled. Didn't think it would be such  
a nice day, with the lost bet and that.

He'd told Mephisto the truth about his parents: it was so surreal he didn't really believe it had happened, but his memory told him so. It didn't feel…  
smart. To let a demon know something like that. But it was still okay, because it wasn't a secret that could be used against him. He _hadn't _killed  
anyone. And when he had said aloud that he wished he had, it was kind of… liberating.

Fear lies in the shadows, not in the objects they hide. Humanity may have found ways to light the darkness with fire and electricity, but she had  
yet to chase away the darkness in her heart and mind. And, strange as it was, a demon had lit up part of the darkness in Shiro's.

-

He knew where he was when he spotted the faint, asymmetrical lump outlined in the sky at the end of a spindly-legged aqueduct: Moriyama's  
supply shop. He wasn't that far from the dorms, then. Mephisto had been kind enough to drop him inside the warding circle so he wouldn't get  
jumped by demons again: no matter what Shizuku or books said, there seemed to be a correlation between broken fake wards and demons  
getting into the Academy.

Shouts and shrieks cut through the stillness. His first thought was that some ward was down and a demon had gotten through. The voice was  
a woman's, but it sounded more angry than frightened. Probably not a demon, then.

Shiro jogged in the direction of the shouting. The asshole part of him said that a hot girl could be very _grateful_ if he saved her from whatever  
bothered her: the intelligent part of him reminded him dryly that heroic knights came in shining armour, not purple bathrobes.

"_Oh, of course: it's the guy who needs saving…_" Shiro drew a deep breath, and let out a sigh that could knock down mountains. "_Let's see if I  
can fix this without making it worse…_"

"…what love is in the first place!" he discerned from a caustic, very un-womanly voice as he approached. "You're a soulless _thing_, a spawn of  
hell that should be sent back where you belong!"

"Oi, Agari-chan! Shouldn't you be practicing 'don't kick a man who's lying down', 'turn the other cheek', 'love your enemy', and all that?"

"Says the man who sleeps with demons!" she snarled at him, absolutely livid. Ryuuji was still standing, but his hopes and dreams were all over  
the ground in post-mortem spasms. "You're blasphemers, all of you – this whole school is a Babylon that makes mockery of the Order of the  
True Cross! A demon in the principal's office and teachers that treat the abominations as pets! And half-blooded freaks that think they're human  
just because they have their own bodies!" She stabbed a finger at Ryuuji, every contorted muscle in her face saying she wished it had been a  
sword. Well, he recoiled as if it were one. "Don't you ever talk to me again! Don't ever soil my name in your mouth! Don't even look at me!  
And don't even _think _that I would love some _creature _like you!"

"Oi, that's harsh. A guy likes you – you should be hap-"

"Happy?!" Her murderous glare locked onto him like a laser scope. For a moment, he thought she was going to hit him again. "He's got evil  
coded into his very DNA! The only way he could make me _happy _is by dropping dead!"

Agari turned on her heel and stalked away, fury making the night around her cringe. Shiro glanced at Ryuuji to assess the damage. He couldn't  
have looked worse if he'd been dragged after a freight train across the length of the Trans-Siberian.

"Well, for what it's worth, we did try to warn-" Shiro lost his thread when Ryuuji buried his face in his shoulder and cried. "It's okay, big guy."  
He didn't know what else to say and settled for patting his back awkwardly.

"I wah-wah-was waiting at her po-orch", he hiccupped and snivelled. "And I heard he-her come back… But when she s-saw me she tu-tu-turned  
and left…"

His broken heart dropped shards at every word, and once again Shiro was reminded that he was an asshole. He wasn't thinking of Ryuuji's pain:  
he was thinking of what Agari was doing out late at night alone.

-

He'd left Ryuuji with Shizuku and excused himself to go looking for Agari before anybody brought up the bathrobe. Well, he tried, at least…

"There you are, Fujimoto-kun. Now, presuming you have sobered up since- What in the world are you wearing?" Under other circumstances, Shiro  
would've savoured Saburota's dumbstruck face.

"If you really have to know, I fell in the pond, and this lady who lived nearby was kind enough to lend me a bathrobe. I said I'd return it to her as  
soon as I'd gotten some dry clothes, so if you don't mind…?" He tugged the collar edges of the bathrobe to indicate he was going to change, and  
also conveniently covered Mephisto's monogram with his arm.

-

"You fell in a pond." Saburota had turned his back to him at his desk. "Drunk again?"

"No, just thought I'd see how well I could balance across the bridge banister."

"Drunk, then." Saburota had a gift for saying a lot with very few words. In some people, that will give rise to immortal quotes: in others, it will  
lend two words enough weight to crash down on one's nerves like a sledgehammer. "I don't have to tell you that that kind of behaviour will not  
be tolerated as long as you share this room with me. You have a duty to this school, and to exorcism as a profession, to be representative of  
certain standards. With the amount of work you have undertaken, I would have thought you understood that."

"No need to talk to me like I'm a kid", Shiro muttered, buttoning up his shirt and realizing that he still didn't know how to do a tie. "I'm eighteen  
in a month and a half, I can take care of myself."

"If you could act your age, I wouldn't have to."

"You're the one not acting your age", he retorted wryly, trying to untangle the tie from his glasses string. "You're like some robot programmed  
to do nothing but study and work. You've never been drunk, have you? Never had a date, never fooled around with friends late at night. Man,  
your life must suck." No response from the straight back – he was probably wearing that poker face of his, pushing up his glasses as he always  
did. "Anyway", he said, putting a cigarette between his teeth, "I'm going out."

-

His shoes were sopping wet, but he got them from the laundry room anyway. And his lighter.

When he knocked on the door in the girls' dorm, Natsuya opened. At first she stared blankly at him – and then, a spark of recognition:

"Oh, it's you." Recognition not of the good kind. "At ten-thirty p.m. Why?"

"I'm here on behalf of a friend", he said, not missing the annoyed tone and trying to get his business done as quick as possible. "He and  
Agari-chan had a fight, so I'm here to straighten things out."

"Then you're in the wrong place – Fujimoto-kun, was it? Agari-san's dorm is the one down by the poplars." Seeing the nonplussed look on  
his face, she sighed. "The trees that grow fluffy, white seeds that look like cotton in early autumn. You know which ones I mean?"

"Oh. I thought she lived here."

"Apparently, since you came here", she said dryly. "She's a friend of mine – doesn't have many friends in her own year class. Now, do you  
know what a poplar tree looks like?"

"Yeah, no problem. Thanks, and… good night."

"Same to you."

He trotted on towards the second dorm from the great staircase. "The one down the poplar trees"– girls just couldn't give directions, how many  
people knew what a poplar looked like…?

When he knocked on Agari's door, he was prepared: when she saw him, she slammed the door shut as hard as he could – or pretty damn  
hard, at least. His foot told him so.

"I'm just here to talk, okay? And if I say or do anything that makes you mad, just whack me."

"I have nothing to say to you", she said, rigid as a rock in both voice and posture.

"That's okay, then I can talk instead." He really must've gotten stronger from training: when he put some muscle into it, he could push the door  
open despite Agari's efforts.

"Fine, then", she grumbled. "Are you good with a walk?"

He didn't get to have a say, really. She had already taken her coat and stepped out in the corridor.

"You know he doesn't mean any harm. It's not his fault he was born a half-demon."

"It doesn't make him any less demonic."

They strolled aimlessly up and down the walkways of True Cross Academy. Well, Shiro strolled: Agari did a kind of slow march. He could feel  
his shoes soaking up the cold from the ground and coating his feet with promises of coughs and a runny nose.

"Physically, yeah. If he had been even slightly demonic in nature, tonight would've ended differently", Shiro said, seeing an opportunity to steer  
the conversation the right direction. "There's lots of things that can happen to a lone girl out late at night, and a ham-fisted half-demon confessing  
his love to you is one of the better things. What were you thinking? At least get Natsuya-senpai or somebody to accompany you."

"How unlike you, to worry about other humans' well-being", she said coolly.

"You hit me for being rude." Shiro raised one finger to count. "And you scorn me for being considerate." He raised another finger. "Just how does  
a guy talk to you?"

"…I never really talked to boys, actually", she said, still rigid. "The orphanage where I lived kept boys and girls separate."

"Oh? The one they sent me to was one of those government-operated storage facilities. Where were you?"

"St. Nicholas, quite far from here."

"Catholic orphanage?"

"Yes. The only time boys and girls were together was for meals, or when travelling scholars from the Vatican came to hold lessons."

"Huh." He wiggled the cigarette between his teeth. "And not one lesson was about not going out alone at night? Sounds like they missed a few  
vital parts in that education. What were you doing out here, really?" he asked, making it sound as off-handed as he could.

"I was out for a walk. What were _you _doing? In that bathrobe?"

Nice change of subject. Quick, too. With someone as cold as Agari it can be difficult to tell if they lie; even more so when the change of subject  
is justified.

"You wouldn't believe it, really", he grinned at the ground under his feet. "I thought I could balance on the railing of the bridge across that small  
pond, over by the walkway to the groceries down town. Turns out I couldn't. A kind lady leant me a bathrobe so I wouldn't freeze when I went  
back to get dry clothes."

Agari… _chuckled._ Shiro almost lost track of what he was doing: her cold personality usually made him forget, but now that she displayed warm  
emotion he was reminded just how _gorgeous _she could be.

"I find it hard to believe you are three years older than the rest of us. More like three years younger."

"That's what my roommate said, in less nice words. We go together like oil and water, really – but that's probably me. Believe it or not, I know  
I'm difficult to get along wi-"

The flapping wings were soundless, but the dark shape in the night sky was unmistakable.

"_You have the worst timing ever, Mephisto…!_"

The pink karakasa obake swooped down in the lamplight, aimed straight for them. It rose sharply up again, dropping some small thing that  
Shiro caught with ease before it flew away, refusing to have anything more to do with the uncivilized monkey that had pulled its tail. He opened  
his hand to find the great, sterilized dodake… dodili… star.

"Well, nice to have that back." He tried to act casual and put the thong over his head, taking care not to get it tangled with the glasses string.  
Good to have his hands up and ready, in case she was going to clout him again… "_You could've given it back on the next practice session, but  
no, you had to send it by airmail express tonight, just when I was about to get on Agari's good side again, and I had even made her smile…!_"  
Mephisto would hear this later, that blasted old goat… "I lost it when I fell in the water. Didn't expect the familiar to- …what?"

Agari was not yelling about consorting with demons or other heresy. Her face had reverted to that cool, reserved stone-mask, but her demeanour  
was animated as ever. She took the pendant in her hand and leaned closer, turning it back and forth for inspection.

"A great stellated dodecahedron. Where did you get this?"

"I always have demons on my heels", he shrugged, taking the opportunity to draw in a breath of Agari's perfume. "Shizu-san's sister gave it to  
me when she passed by for his birthday celebration. Said it would keep them off my back."

"I hope you thanked her tenfold. This is a very powerful charm, and very difficult to make properly."

"You know a lot about this stuff?" he asked curiously.

"We didn't just have scholars visiting St. Nicholas", she said, leaving the star to rest against his chest. "Some were exorcists. They told us about  
demons and how to fight them. When I learnt humans _could _fight them, I decided I would become an exorcist." She met his eyes with deep,  
dark brown ones that were shaded by thick eyelashes. Shiro tried to straighten up as discreetly as he could: if he didn't, their eyes were level.  
He would _not _be shorter than a girl. "Why did you want to become an exorcist, three years late?"

The torn ward, the broken window, the demon behind the principal's desk, smiling at him; Agari's voluptuous breasts, so close…

"I just like to think things through carefully before I make important decisions."

Because when a girl with E-cup is standing so close your chest almost touches hers, no man can think up subtle lies. And the funny thing is, some  
lies are so blatant you wouldn't even suspect them to be lies.

**A/N: Now, for my own amusement, but also to let me gauge how well the plot worked before unravelling it: who do you think is  
responsible for the sabotages? The ruthless, power-hungry Yaonarus? The unreliable, demon-hugging Futotsukis? The secretive  
and well-informed Agari? Please tell me and motivate! (This is like AnE Cluedo... x'D)**


	42. 42: Man's best friend?

**A/N: Pure brain goop that formed somewhere in the back of my head while I was preparing for my maths exam tomorrow. So to  
give myself a little break, and you a little weird tidbit before the "real" update, I sat down and typed this up. Basically, pure humor,  
inspired by a lovely fanmade comic strip that I couldn't read. |-P** **Plus I think Mephisto could do this...**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"I know school can be hard at times: private life, too, when you're young. I am under vow of silence, so you can tell me anything, Fujimoto-kun."

"Well, I have nothing to say to you", he said irritably. "And I don't understand why I have to be here."

"I think you do, Fujimoto-kun. And I think you need to be here. Trying to end your life is a desperate measure, a cry for help. I understand if you  
don't want to open up right away. Don't worry, we will have as many sessions as you need to-"

"I wasn't gonna kill myself." God, this was so ridiculous… if only those freshmen hadn't stumbled in on him… "I fell asleep."

The school psychologist gave him her most Understanding Look.

"With your head in the sink?"

"It's a very comfortable sink", he said offhandedly.

"Denial and diminishing of the problem is a natural reaction, Fujimoto-kun. It's okay. You can tell me when you feel comfortable with it."

"Oh for crap's sake – I was bleaching my hair, and I was a little tired, and I fell asleep. It ain't no stranger than that."

-

"It's ridiculous", he fumed, accompanying Ryuuji to the dorms to get some books the latter had forgotten for anti-demon pharmacology class.  
"And it stinks of Yaonaru. Kita-san's pulling strings to make life sour for me, and I can bet my ass he's the one who tipped the shrink off about  
my parents' suicides. They can't include such things in the regular school files, can they?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Sounds unlikely, though."

He'd been like that ever since Agari minced his self-esteem into sawdust. Taciturn. Distant. Down.

"Come on, Ryuuji-san!" Shiro snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to wake him up. "Shape up. Take the bull by the horns. Tell Pheles about  
it and he'll relegate her from the Academy."

"I… I don't want Agari-chan to be relegated", he mumbled. "She's had bad experience with- with demons. It takes a while to get over that. It  
will be okay, in a few years or so."

Outstanding. Incredible. He hadn't given up on her after that…?

"Oi, listen…" Don't screw this up. He'd been mangled by his love-interest, he didn't need to get mangled by his friend too. "Sometimes you love  
people with all your heart, but that doesn't count for anything if they don't love you back. You have to realize, it's not likely that Agari-chan will  
ever get over her demon-problem."

"You have to believe that people can change, Shiro-san."

"Sure they can", he smiled wryly around his unlit cigarette. "They just don't. Either they're too lazy, or they just can't be bothered. Look at me:  
I could change, I should change, but I don't."

"But you _are _an exception in most instances."

A faint smile. Well, better than nothing.

"Yeah, well, so are you. Anybody else would've dropped the chase after she chewed your ears off like that. Wanna know what I think?" he asked,  
eyebrows slightly raised, cigarette wiggling. "You and I are on the extremes of the scale, and we really should move towards the middle and  
save ourselves a lot of trouble. I should get more tolerant, you should be less tolerant. How does that sound?"

"Um… smart? I mean, it doesn't sound _wrong_, but I don't know…"

Back at his stammering uncertainty, then. A good thing? Well, it wasn't worse…

"Alright, if I put it like this: tell me, honestly; you think it was wrong of Agari-chan to say those things about you, don't you?"

Ryuuji nodded. Some need to get burnt before they learn not to stick their hand in a fire, but at least sooner or later they learn.

"And you can agree with me when I say she's intolerant and has a nasty temper, right?"

He nodded again, fidgeting with a Koutetsu Jeeg key ring on his satchel.

"And you still think that's a horse worth betting on?"

At some point during the conversation, Shiro realized just how much the situation reminded him of the shoujo manga he'd borrowed from  
Mephisto: one girl giving advice to her love-struck friend. It was hilarious and creepy at the same time.

"Look", Shiro sighed. "I've said it before: remember what she almost did to Midori-chan. Agari-chan meant every word she said to you. She's  
fully capable of killing a half-demon, and the only reason she hasn't tried to do you in is 'cause Pheles will give her hell for it. Now explain to me;  
where's the sense in loving someone who thinks you're hellspawn that should be killed?"

"I- I think that's the problem… I _know _it's a bad idea. I just… my feelings don't agree with my brain", he said helplessly. "I hear what you say and  
I agree with all of it, and still I… it doesn't stop. This feeling, it doesn't go away. I've never felt anything like this – it's like something inside me is  
pulling me towa-"

"Shiro-kun." Agari's voice? When Ryuuji was around? What could she possibly want to-

Shiro had just turned around when time stopped. Well, something stopped. His control over his facial muscles, for one thing.

"_What in all the blazes…_"

"Shiro-san…?" Ryuuji's voice drifted to his ears from a distance – whether a real distance or the one that yawned in Shiro's empty head.

"…are you doing?"

"You're mumbling", Agari enlightened. Straight-backed. Straight-faced. She could have been a mannequin, really. "I found this stray in the area  
and I was wondering if you know whose it is. If you don't I won't take up your time", she added curtly.

Shiro tore his eyes from the little white dog resting in Agari's arms with an air of saintly innocence.

"Sorry – you were saying…?"

"This dog. Do you know whose it is? And why are you smiling?"

"What? No, just… just… spasms… I get them from time to time, it'll pass." The corners of his mouth kept twitching and quirking even when he  
bit his cheeks.

"Are you sure? You're starting to go… burgundy."

"Am I?" The dog had started licking Agari's hand. Shiro tried to breathe as little as possible. Unbelievable. Absolutely, hilariously unbelievable…!

"Yes. And you sound like something is blocking your windpipe. Shouldn't you- Oh, you little rascal, stop it!" She smiled and ruffled the fur of the  
dog that had now wiggled out of her grasp and, planting its front paws on her voluptuous chest, started to lick her chin.

Shiro could feel his cerebral blood vessels pop, one by one like Chinese firecrackers, as he imagined the dog returning to its original form. Oh yes.  
Right now, in this glorious moment, consecrating it to the hall of fame in human history, way above the discovery of fire and the invention of the wheel…

"Isn't he cute? …are you going to cry?"

Shiro shook his head vigorously, well aware his face was coming apart. Cute. _Cute_.

"I take it you don't know where he lives, then. I shall keep looking."

"…okay", he squeaked, fighting his twitching lips.

"And you should go to the infirmary. Check you blood-pressure and a few other… things", she said over her shoulder.

"Shiro-san…?" Ryuuji had had enough sense to keep his distance from Agari, and approached him with a look of worry on his affable features.

"Come."

"Shiro-san? Your voice sounds awfully strange, and your face is-"

Nothing that made sense could come out of his mouth at this point, wherefore he grabbed Ryuuji's hand and skulked after Agari. Keeping tight  
to corners, urns, banisters and other handy things, he explained as best as he could. Which wasn't very good.

"Just watch the dog", he whispered through a throat thick with constrained laughter.

-

Agari tried several groups of students in the hope that somebody would point her in the right direction.

"Hello. You don't happen to recognise this dog, do you?"

"No, I'm sorry. Doesn't he have a collar?"

"No, I checked."

"Is he a stray? He looks too well cared-for to be a stray…"

"I know – and he's very friendly with people, so I don't think he's a stray."

"Aww, he's so fluffy and soft!"

"Isn't he? He really seems to like you."

"_Go figure – she must have E-cup at least_", Shiro thought, peeking from behind a banister, one hand clamped tightly over his mouth. "_Mephisto,  
you bastard…!_"

-

When no students recognised the dog, Agari asked an Academy janitor.

"Oh, that one? Yeah, I see him trotting about at times. Always afraid I'm gonna run him over with the mower. He usually has a… a ribbon of some  
sort. So somebody owns him. Just doesn't look after him very well."

"Such a shame. I can't understand how anyone could let a little cuddle-bun like him out of sight…"

"Yeah, well, he probably belongs to someone in the Academy, or in the blocks closest by. Sorry, can't help you any more than that, miss."

"It's fine. Thank you."

A short distance away, behind a powerhouse, Shiro was writhing on the ground in severe abdominal agony.

"Shiro-san, are you alright…?"

"Cuddle-bun…!" he choked, tears streaming down his face.

-

Agari even asked at the teachers' facility that corresponded to student dorms.

"Do you know if he belongs to one of the teachers?"

"I don't think so. We do allow pets, but I only know of a couple of cats in the building. He's a sweet fellow though. Not much larger than a cat either,  
so if you have him neutered and get him a collar you could probably keep him here. Oh! Oh my-"

"I'm sorry! I don't know why he did that, he's very friendly, really. Maybe you smell of cat?"

"Shiro-san? Shiro-san? You're not suffering an asthma-attack, are you?"

Shiro shook his head, ribcage aching, wheezing out bouts of laughter in his hand behind a parked car.

-

"Oh, it's too much, oh god, I can't take another one…" he wiped tears from his eyes as they followed Agari at a distance. Had to hand it to  
Mephisto, he _was _good at playing tricks on people: a troublemaker like Shiro could appreciate another practitioner of the noble art. "_Hell, I  
would've done the same if I could shape-shift…_" Moreover, this confirmed that his dirty shenanigans against Shiro were just that:  
shenanigans. With that smug look on his canine face, Mephisto was _definitely _into women.

"Shiro-san, I really don't understand. What's the thing about the dog?"

Well, at least Ryuuji wasn't the distracted zombie he had been the past days. Even if the expression on his face was confusion, it was better than  
no expression at all.

"That dog is the most awesome thing you have seen in your life", Shiro stated, peeking from behind the sign that announced the name of one  
of True Cross' many parks. "It will all be very clear when this is over."

"How much longer? We've already spent lunch break on this. Classes are due soon, and I still haven't gotten my books…"

"Believe me, this is worth skipping your granny's funeral for. Well, I suppose priorities can differ, but you definitely won't regret this…"

Agari had given up the hunt for the owner and sat in the grass by an artificial pond. The waning day threw glimmering reflections at the koi and  
multi-coloured ducks that swam back and forth in the pointless manner specific to fish and birds. She kept the dog in her lap, scratching its chin  
and ears absentmindedly. Shiro and Ryuuji succeeded, with some effort and a pathetic improvised camouflage of elephant grass, to take cover  
in a gazebo close enough to both hear and see.

"So I couldn't find your home", she stated, gazing at the water and beyond. "Too bad, hm? You're probably better at finding it yourself anyway.  
You're a dog." She looked down, raising an eyebrow at the eyelids that drooped as it leaned into her scratching. "I'm talking to a dog. Tch…  
Someone is probably worried about you right now, you know? Someone is looking for you and want you back home. So why aren't you there,  
hm?" She ruffled the hair on the dog's head. "Now you look like Shiro-kun. That idiot. I hope he went to the infirmary, he looked like he was  
about to have a seizure…" She chuckled, lifted the dog under his front legs and held him up level with her face. "Guys get so awkward around  
cute things, you know? Yeah? Are you that cute?" From the gazebo, Shiro could se a stumpy tail wagging happily. "Are you adorable? Yes you  
are~" She nuzzled her nose against the dog's.

Shiro hyperventilated into one fist and beat the other against his leg.

"_Come on, Mephisto, turn back now! Turn back now and I'll love you forever!_"

Agari lay down in the grass, gently setting the dog down next to her. It plopped down and turned over.

"Oh god, the images…" Shiro felt one eyebrow go up, the other down, mouth quirking uncontrollably in all directions, as his mind's eye processed  
Agari scratching the dog's fuzzy belly. "I'm ruined… my mental chastity… I can never look him in the eye…"

"Shiro-san. What. Is. Going. _On_?"

"You might want something to bite into, you know; I really don't want them to hear you scream. Oh…" A dog has much more acute hearing  
than a human, and demons equally so. "On second thought, we're probably already busted. Well, he doesn't seem to mind that we've been  
following, so…" He shrugged.

Ryuuji stared at him in utter bewilderment.

"Please, just tell me what's going on. Who's 'he'?"

"That dog?" Shiro did his best to keep his face straight. "That's Sir Pheles."

Ryuuji stared at the little dog. He didn't say a word. Shiro didn't know if that was a good or bad reaction to having your ideals go belly-up  
before you. Or your love-interest cuddling with them.

"…that's Sir Pheles…?"

"He can turn into a dog."

"…he licked her face…"

"Not to mention how smug he looked when he was snuggled up against her boobs."

A shy, incredulous smile spread slowly over Ryuuji's lips.

"He's a full-blooded demon. Agari-chan hates his guts."

"Yeah, well, he seems to like Agari-chan. He's a real cuddle-bun."

Shiro and Ryuuji muffled laughter in their hands, twitching like stranded shrimps from stomach cramps on the gazebo floor.

**A/N: It seems I've gotten prematurely published. =^_^= I just have to write it, because it caught me completely off guard when  
it was announced. One of Sweden's more well-known poets/authors issued an open competition for a collection of thought-inspiring  
quotes, and my entry made it into the book. I devised it for my own book, originally, but it's a quite universal paraphrase, so it's  
going to do fine even without its context.**

**"Knowing is human; understanding is divine." /Dimwit**


	43. 43: Blind and walking into doors

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"There's something I've been meaning to ask about", Shiro said, entering the classroom again after blowing his nose out in the corridor. "There's  
71 named Lords of Gehenna, but only the eight Princes are given a separate chapter in the course book. I know they're powerful", he said with  
an offhanded gesture. "But why set them apart like that when there's not enough info on them to fill even five pages?"

Actually, it was less than three pages. Each Prince came with a very superficial description of element and abilities, approximately what they were  
reported to look like, and a recommendation to avoid battle by all means.

Kohu-sensei was in all likelihood the most knowledgeable teacher in the staff: by far the oldest, at least. She was retired from exorcist duty, but  
with her energy and love for her subject, all demons in Gehenna couldn't make her retire from teaching.

"I'm still waiting for that paper on identification of earth spirits, Fujimoto-kun", she said with a kind smile that was heartfelt, but a tone that said  
she meant business.

"It's under progress, sensei." Being progressively buried under the other half-finished homework… "I started to wonder when I went back to check  
on the King of Earth for the paper. There's less info on him than on a green-man: why not just put him among the earth demons, since he is one  
and doesn't have enough to cover an article of his own?"

"That dates back to ancient times", Kohu-sensei said from behind her desk. "The first attempt at a standardized demon systematic was made  
by Semitic researchers. They defined the Princes as a separate group of demons, and that classification has remained in place through several  
reorganizations. The original class was called the Baal, a term that has become obsolete today. It means _the Masters_. The Princes are of  
different elements, different in every aspect thinkable, but they share one trait that sets them apart from other demons: they are immortal."

"Immortal?" Shiro had to rearrange his thoughts to accommodate that one. "Literally immortal, not just so ridiculously powerful they can't be  
defeated?"

Kohu-sensei folded her hands on her desk with a gentle smile.

"Literally immortal. You may have noticed there are no fatal verses listed for them. That doesn't mean they don't have fatal verses: they do, but  
unlike other demons, the Princes don't die when they are read. It will exorcise them, but they return just as quick. For that reason, some ancient  
cultures considered them gods. For example, in heathen times it was common in many places to offer blood sacrifices for good harvest: this  
practice is derived from worship of Prince Amaimon, the King of Earth, who is said to have a love for carnage."

-

Immortal. No wonder he was so smug.

"_Must be pretty damn sweet, to be able to shape-shift and never die, and snap your fingers and poof anything you want…_" It wasn't difficult to  
see why humans in ancient times had perceived the Princes as gods.

Shiro plodded down the stairs of the Academy building slowly, wincing every so often when he didn't mind his movements. Their class had been  
given a simple mission of exorcising a hobgoblin nest, but he'd been tired and unfocused and gotten himself a claw in the side. It wouldn't have  
been so bad, if he'd gotten treatment instantly. He had plain refused to let Kita patch him up, though. Mixing up potion and poison would reflect  
badly on his grades, but Shiro didn't put it past the little rat to do something like that. He had kept on fighting until the mission was completed,  
and then let Ryuuji handle the task.

Matsuri-sensei had chewed his ass for that. No solo-ing on missions; teammates were there for support, and neglecting his own condition would  
hamper and possibly endanger said teammates. Et cetera. He'd nodded and hummed without really listening.

"_Shouldn't matter how_ _the job's done as long as it gets done. It's not like I lost an arm or something…_"

All these rules and regulations and protocols. Protocol: one of Saburota's favourite words. Sweet lord, he'd had his ears stuffed with _protocol_ since  
he came back from talking to Agari. And the fuss made over that little scratch he'd gotten on the mission – you'd think he'd been cut in half!  
_Irresponsible _and _reckless_, and various synonyms of the two. Honestly, wasn't there a single person in the whole complex who could adopt a  
pragmatic view on things…?

Midori could. The night market was opening again, and he'd been meaning to ask her out there for some time. Diverting from the well-trodden  
path back to his dorm, he set course for the girls' dorm. By the damn poplars.

Lady Chance was on his side, it seemed: Midori's braided ribbon had slid off and laid just a few steps outside her door.

"_Not like bringing her chocolate or anything, but plus points for sure_", he smiled as he bent, very carefully, and picked up the ribbon. "_I should  
make a move and bring her chocolate someday…_"

"Hey, Mido-"

Knocking before you enter may have become an empty gesture, but it does serve a purpose. Sure, Shiro had seen Midori naked before. He just  
hadn't… seen her naked between Sen's legs…

He slammed door and eyes shut and dropped his tomato-red forehead against the wooden surface.

"_I… am the greatest idiot alive…_"

"Shiro-kun…?"

Oh crap no! Shiro let go of the handle as if burnt and hobbled down the corridor as fast as he could. He didn't know what he was thinking, but  
he knew could _not _look her in the face right now. Not with that massive hard-on.

Footsteps down the corridor? Well, _Midori_ wouldn't think twice about trotting after him naked… and her creamy skin mingled so painfully well  
with Sen's soft curves…

"_Not now!_" he hissed at his brain, which seemed hell-bent on making that picture permanent on his retina. He shouldered into the bathroom at  
the turn of the corridor and dove into a vacant cubicle. Hour-long seconds ticked by, and no footfalls followed.

Alright, step one: get rid of hard-on. Step two: wrap his head around Sen and Midori. Easy enough, when the two combined most suitably…

-

"_That's what they were all getting at… tch, my glasses really didn't do me any good…_" he sighed, zipping his trousers back up.

Shiro was experiencing unusual inner turmoil. Part of his mind blew testosterone steam through the nose and announced with gleaming eyes that  
one hot girl was awesome, but two hot girls together had to be god's gift to man; another part pulled a blanket over itself and wished it could  
erase the past months of idiocy and public ridicule from the flow of time.

The best way to draw attention from inner turmoil is to consider the more practical issues of outer turmoil. He was in the girls' bathroom. If he  
were found there, repercussions would be quite unpleasant. He'd even heard one could get relegated for that. Now, to make it out without  
getting caught… He ducked low, hearing footsteps approach. Good move: seconds later, the door creaked.

Shit, had he locked his cubicle…? But the steps didn't head for the cubicles: taps were turned, and water started pouring. Not that Shiro had  
any deeper knowledge of women's hygiene habits, but washing your hands _before _you went to the bathroom seemed a little…

"Had any luck?" a voice – a _male _voice? – murmured, almost inaudible over the running water.

"No. We're working on it, but something like that isn't easy to pull off. As I see it, we'll have to wait for an opportunity to present itself and take  
it without hesitation. We can't afford to rush this", female voice mumbled. Shiro strained his ears, blocking out input from all other senses. "It  
would be pathetic to stumble on the finishing line…"

"We're far from the finishing line, you know that. But we're ready. An opportunity will present itself, I'm sure; and when it does, we'll be quick."

"We should have finished already. The more time we give him, the likelier he is to find us out."

"On the contrary; if he hasn't found us yet, I don't think he will. If it was within his power, he would've caught us long ago."

"He might be playing along, waiting for us to make a mistake", the female voice said sombrely. "Haven't you thought about that? It could all be  
a gigantic trap."

"Even if it is, we-" The door to the corridor creaked again. The taps switched off. "The exam will be fine. We can celebrate with crêpes down  
at Sato Akuma afterwards."

Shuffling feet, the door clicked shut. Lone footsteps padded the clinker floor, indecisive about which cubicle to take. No ruckus about a guy in  
the girls' bathroom…? Tch, if he didn't lock his cubicle, there'd be one hell of a ruckus about a guy in the girls' bathroom very soon… Shiro  
discreetly slid the peg shut, keeping it from clicking against as it reached end point. As soon as he heard a door close down the rows, he threw  
his open and sped out into the corridor. Not a soul in sight. Dammit…

**A/N: …because there's nothing quite like the moment when somebody's hitting on you, and you inform them "I'm gay". X'3**

**Yes, I approve of femslash… |-P Though I silently mourn that there's so little of it around, I'm not going to make it any major part  
of this fic. I just thought it would be fun to shock Shiro… and make him realize he doesn't have much of a gaydar. ^_^' Also, I can  
testify that 99,9% of the planet's male population shares his (and my) opinion of yuri.**


	44. 44: Idle banter

**A/N: For this, I watched ****_UFO Robot Grendizer_**** with Arabic dub and no subs. So, uh, the names of characters are correct, but the rest  
is a little... winged. ^_^' A bit plot and a bit crack - hopefully that will make a good chapter...?**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

It was past office hours, so Shiro climbed all the way up to Mephisto's mansion at the summit of the Academy. He'd never seen it from the outside,  
but it was everything one would expect from a house belonging to Mephisto…

"_Where does he get all that money from…?_" he thought as he circled the fountain in the courtyard.

When he rang the doorbell, a butler opened, and he temporarily forgot his errand. Shiro had never seen a real butler, let alone a demon butler.  
But there was no mistaking those ears.

"Good evening. How may I help you?" he said in a voice as starched as his collar.

"I need to speak with Pheles."

"And what be your errand with master Pheles?" he inquired, as if saying that referring to Mephisto simply by surname wasn't good enough.

"I have information his highness would like to hear", he said, mimicking the stiffness with only the slightest hint of mockery – and the suggestion  
that he was not just some school boy there to ask for a postponed essay deadline.

"I shall take you to his highness", the demon said, bowing, with a spark of intense curiosity in his narrow reptile eyes.

It was beyond confusing. It was… insane. Shiro had been in that mansion. He had spent almost two days cooped up there, gone through every  
nook and corner there was, and the library did _not _connect to the utility room. The library should connect to the arcade room, which was nowhere  
to be seen; and what the hell was the kitchen doing in the parlour…?

As he followed the butler through rooms he'd never seen – striped hallways, frilly ballrooms, gargantuan dining halls with chandeliers and  
hearths – he realized two things. One: when he had been here, Mephisto must've bent space and connected doors so that he had only had access  
to a few select rooms. Two: the butler was as lost as he was.

"Uh, sir…?"

"You may call me Belial."

"Right. Belial-san, where _is _Phe- his highness?"

"In his highness' bedchamber", came the schooled response. And, with a crisp touch of sophisticated annoyance, he added: "It would appear his  
highness has seen fit to rearrange."

So he was right. The rooms moved, and Belial had no idea how to find Mephisto's bedroom.

"_Like a life-size dollhouse…_" he smiled. "He does that a lot…?"

"Occasionally."

"Isn't that inconvenient?"

"It is convenient for his highness."

It was a masterpiece, really. That perfectly pitched tone that was impeccably polite and at the same time dripping with unspoken opinions.  
Damn shame he would never be able to copy that… Would be fun to take Belial out for a few drinks and hear his more heartfelt words about  
his master's rearrangements. Just imagine trying to find the bathroom when you were in a hurry…

"Any chance there could be a shortcut? To some room he'd like to access conveniently?" Shiro asked as they closed yet another door that led to  
the kitchen.

"Trust me, young man, we have tried all the shortcuts. His highness must be-" Belial stopped and turned his narrow gaze at Shiro. "Are you,  
perchance, carrying any charms or wards on your person?"

"Oh. I completely forgot…" He quickly got the star pendant over his head. "Any place I can put this?"

"Leave it on the chiffonier."

Shiro had no idea what a chiffonier was, but tried the most obvious piece of furniture: a low, wooden cupboard that was too large and  
extravagantly carved to be called something as plain as cupboard.

From there, it took less than half a minute to locate Mephisto's bedroom.

"A visitor, your highness." Belial bowed as he opened the door.

Mephisto looked up from his nest of cushions and obese plushies on the floor in front of the tv-screen. Shiro smiled inwardly: watching  
Grendizer again, huh? Really, what could be so fascinating about robots…?

"Show him in."

"Yes, master. And… the maids were looking for the room for bed linen. They kindly ask your highness to put it in junction with the utility room."

Mephisto didn't reply, merely snapped his clawed fingers.

"Thank you, master. Anything your highness would like…?"

"More of the fruit jellies and the pralines. And that white nougat from Marseille~"

Belial picked up the silver tray with empty plates and bowls, bowed, and exited. Shiro was left to ponder whether or not that _Honey-bee Maya  
_yukata was even more ridiculous than the principal uniform, and whether or not 'practice makes perfect' could be applied to the dozen sketches  
of Grendizer scattered around Mephisto.

"Good evening, Cuddle-bun", he grinned as he sauntered through the peculiar bedroom. Oh well, all things are relative; it wouldn't be peculiar  
for a six year-old. "Nice job with Agari-chan. Very… gentlemanly."

"Why, it's not a gentleman's decorum to rudely refuse a young lady's heartfelt affection~" he hummed in playful tones, looking exceptionally  
smug as he added another carefully calculated line to his Grendizer drawing. "I think we made quite the connection, she and I~"

"You're a truly shameless bastard", Shiro chuckled, manoeuvring past the assorted manga volumes.

"Mind your mouth, young man. Didn't you hear your lovely classmate?" He bit into a sugar-coated Belgian waffle, showcasing his fangs in a bright  
grin that shrunk his eyes to merry arcs. "I'm adorable~"

Shiro fought hard not to double over and re-open his injury. That face, and that yukata, and the crayon drawings, and… and…

"Sure, you're adorable", he chuckled, seating himself with great caution next to the pile of cushions. "And I'm an idiot. Or will be; I think I suffered  
mild brain haemorrhage when I saw her with you. Of all the people that could pick you up…"

The withheld laughter had clogged his nose up with more snot, and barely had he reached into his pocket for tissue before the wastebasket came  
bouncing.

"Disgusting…" Mephisto frowned, leaning away as Shiro blew his nose.

"_Somebody _left me to marinate in cold water before sending me to walk back without shoes. Reap what you sow, and so on."

The panda rubbed up against his leg and worked its hinged jaws expectantly. As weird as that was, it was better than Mephisto's other pet. Shiro  
wasn't quite sure, but he thought he heard the table lamp over by the bed hiss at him.

"_I don't know if it's a cat, or more like a dog…_"

Whatever it was, it was ready to work for its treats. Shiro held the tissue in the air, making the familiar do jumps.

"You've found a kindred spirit, I see. It can make pirouettes if you wave around some", Mephisto enlightened, testing different angles on  
Grendizer's foot. Or hand.

Shiro tried moving the tissue in circles, and the panda bounced and twisted like a spin top. In a less over-worked state, he might not have  
found this so amusing…

"Does it know any more tricks?"

"Unfortunately, no. It's a slow study, and quite thick", the demon smiled.

"Kindred spirit, huh…?" Shiro noted dryly, and let the panda have the trash. "Anyway, I came here 'cause I overheard something I can't make  
sense of, but maybe you can."

"I'm all ears." He snapped his fingers, and Shiro was swallowed into a beanbag shaped like Doraemon's head.

"Well, it was two girls talking, basically." He struggled to sit upright without adding to the burning sensation of strained stitches. "They were waiting  
for something – an opportunity of some kind. They were nervous 'cause some guy might or might not catch them, and they were worried that he  
would catch them if they didn't finish soon. One suggested that if it had been within his power to track them down, he would have caught them  
already. Same person said that pulling off something like that – whatever 'that' is – wouldn't be easy." He was momentarily distracted as Hikaru  
woke up from her sickbed and clasped Daisuke's hands. "The other worried that 'he' was playing along, and that they would be lured into a trap.  
Does any of this make sense to you…?"

Mephisto twirled the crayon idly between his claws, eyes lost beyond the bright tv-screen. Weird expression. Shiro couldn't place it, and then  
realized why: Mephisto was being serious. Wasn't used to seeing that.

"Maybe…" he murmured, stroking a strand of his long bangs as one might stroke a beard. "If they are… they are most definitely in over their heads…"

"So there _is _a trap? What does it- Ouch! Son of a-" He hadn't paid attention to the panda, and it snagged his fingertips along with the tissue he  
was holding. "Your familiar could use some domestication. …yeah, yeah, I know: kindred spirits."

"You said it, not I~ It's not a trap; more of a… surprise~" he grinned, treating himself to another bonbon. Shiro had no idea when Belial had left  
the silver tray stacked with chocolates and treats; the demon had appeared and disappeared in the soundless, invisible manner known only to  
ninjas and British butlers. "It would be better to catch them before they spring it, however. You couldn't identify either of the speakers?"

"I was in the girls' bathroom, it's not like I could stick my head out and take a peek."

"The girls' bathroom…?" Mephisto gave him a sideways glance full of suggestions. "My my, you really had _me _fooled, Shiro-chan~"

"Oh stuff it; _I'm _not the one who wears high heels…"

"Two centuries ago, you might have", he replied in easy tones. "It was standard for men of noble birth to wear heels in Europe then."

"Really? Why?"

"To increase height, of course."

"Pff, as if you needed to be any taller!"

Seriously, that bathrobe had formed a train behind him when he wore it. Oh, that's right, he should've brought it along and returned it…

"It also accentuates the shape of one's legs nicely."*

Shiro exploded in laughter. Wow… really… had he actually said that, or was it just crazy imagination…?

"Accentuates one's legs…!" Oh god, his side hurt, but he couldn't stop laughing… what a quirk, what a splendid, goofy… "You sure you're not  
Princess Mephistopheles…?"

"Prince it is", the demon smirked playfully. "With the nicest legs in Gehenna~"**

And that was when Shiro, idiomatically and literally, split his side.

"Ahahaha, hah, oh I can't breathe…! Ahahahahaah haaah haah ah ow ow ow I'm gonna have to ask Ryuuji-san to redo those stitches…"

"Do _not _bleed on my custom Doraemon bean bag!" Mephisto stabbed a crayon his direction with the look of a mother protecting her young.

"Don't worry, Princess, a little tear won't soak through the bandage", he chuckled, feeling his side gingerly. "It'll be fine."

"It had better be", he said in warning tones. "Moreover, would you kindly enlighten me why you were in the girls' bathroom in the first place?  
There may or may not be disciplinary action entailing that."

The odds of getting hit by a meteorite are about 1 in 700 000. Shiro wouldn't have minded to be that one person there and then, but Lady  
Chance didn't seem inclined to grant him that favour. Mephisto would be insufferable…

Eventually, he resigned to a cruel fate and forced his mouth open:

"I hid… after I visited Midori-chan and Sen-chan…"

Mephisto was the only one who could laugh harder than Shizuku. Every pointy tooth in his mouth on display, he laughed so hard his thin body  
ought to snap in half from the force. But no, Lady Chance wouldn't take his side in that either.

"Ihihihahahahahaa! Ahahaaaahahahaha~! Oh, too bad, too bad… Fuhuheheeee~ I was hoping to have a first-row seat to see your face…" He  
grinned like a kid at Christmas. "But the consolation prize isn't bad, either~"

"Glad to be of service", he grumbled. "How did _you _know?"

"Demons are pleasure-seekers by nature", he replied, looking pleased indeed. "Pleasure is pleasure, no matter from where or whom it is derived – we  
don't discriminate~ Sakura-chan is only half, but I believe it was plain as day which side of the family she takes after." He selected a lemon-shaped  
sweet and popped it into his mouth with a suggestive grin. "Mm-m, that face isn't bad, either~"

His face must be either white or red, he wasn't quite sure. So Mephisto plain didn't care whether he flirted with men or with women…? Made sense.  
Made sense, but didn't make it any less disturbing.

"Decadent creep…" he muttered under his breath. And he'd thought he was safe after seeing him with Agari-chan… Well, speaking of which…  
"Ryuuji-san lost his head over Agari-chan, couldn't think about anything else. That got something to do with his demon heritage?"

"Humans would always claim virtue as theirs and blame vice on the weeds demons sow in their hearts~" Mephisto was in a good mood: that odd,  
lilting quality to his voice got more prominent when he was. "That isn't true, of course. Demons don't monopolize licentiousness: we perfect it.  
What grows in the human heart is planted by humans, and the only contribution from our side is to make it thrive. Indeed, the _true _virtue of  
mankind is restraint – or denial, whichever you would prefer~ Half-demons can turn out anywhere on the scale: human, demonic, or in between."  
He skewered a fudge praline on a toothpick and ate, long claws striking a peculiar contrast with the refinement contained in the gesture. "A  
demon with a human heart is a curious thing indeed, harnessing the power of a destroyer with the will of a creator. Now, a human with a  
demon's heart…" He twirled the toothpick between his fingers with an idle smile as he watched Commander Blaki overtake professor Umon's  
science lab. "May appear harmless, but hides a sleeping beast within~"

"And if we make it the short version, what does that mean for Ryuuji-san?"

"It means he is a stranger to his own nature." Mephisto skewered another praline. How much of that could he eat, really? Shiro felt he was  
developing diabetes merely by watching… "And will succumb to it once the restraint of his human side is not enough."

"Succumb, as in…?" Shiro pushed.

"Succumb~" He swallowed the treat whole, "as in surrender, voluntarily or involuntarily, to the far stronger instincts of the demon he deep down  
is: 'snap', if colloquial tongue is better suited to your ears."

"And what happens to Agari-chan if he does?"

Not that he particularly cared, but if Ryuuji learnt he might harm her, maybe he would finally give up…

"If he likes the girl, she will survive~" He tossed the toothpick to the overjoyed wastebasket, still smiling. Not particularly concerned either,  
from the looks of it… "Undoubtedly with an even more reinforced antipathy for demons."

"Good enough for me." Shiro leaned back, tracing the stucco pillars up to the domed ceiling with his eyes. His bedroom was in a tower…? "So if  
instincts are that strong, what's it like to a full-blooded demon?" He had to ask, if only to set his mind a little more at peace… "You can restrain  
yourself…?"

"Wouldn't be sitting here if I couldn't~" he smiled amiably, adjusting a cushion to rest more comfortably in his little nest.

Sitting here; in his billion-yen mansion, with every special edition-toy money could buy, a custom limo and a private spy plane, his own  
amusement park, more sweets than a human ate in a lifetime, three-or-more gilded statues of himself… Shiro laughed under his breath. Mephisto  
Pheles, the epitome of restraint…

"_Huh… he's even got claws for toe-nails…_" Mephisto's adjusting of the cushions let a skeletal foot into vision from the folds of the yukata: and  
suddenly, his boots made sense.

"Oh, how I love the imagination of the human mind!" Mephisto's eyes reflected the screen like two brightly gleaming stars, watching with a  
huge grin as Daisuke thrashed the spaceships of the invading Vegans with his anti-gravity beam and saw-toothed projectile fists. "That such  
simple creatures can give rise to such complex inventions! That your boldness and arrogance has reached such dimensions that you create  
artificial life, a man-made evolution of inorganic beings, and in doing so lay shameless claim to godhood!"

Shiro shook his head with an incredulous smile. Adorable? Maybe, in a weird way… Funny? Oh yes…

"It's just fiction, you know. It isn't real."

"So they said about Jules Verne's work, too", the demon said, dismissing the statement with a huff.

"Who?"

"'Who'? You need to read more, young man. Educate your mind so that you may think beyond it~! So the inventors and discoverers of old came  
to understand the world around them, and tether it to their purposes like a working mule!"

"_Could it be that he's had too much sugar…?_" Hard to tell, really; Shiro had come to expect anything and everything of Mephisto in terms of  
sudden mood shifts. "You can do my homework if you enjoy it so much…"

It was waiting for him back at the dorm, like a big, ugly cockroach under a sink. Or maybe that was Saburota…? He would be back from guard duty  
in Deep Keep by now. Cold and stiff and silently disapproving… Mephisto was aware of the situation now, and would take care of it one way or the  
other. He should go back and get to work… soon.

"_I'm gonna fall asleep if I don't do something._"

Shiro raked some of the manga books closer. He had his hand on _Glass Mask_ when his eyes caught Osamu Tezuka on another cover. Even if he'd  
only read _Ribon no Kishi_, he knew that name spelt 'quality'. Odd look to it for a Tezuka, though… _MW_? Rather anonymous title… Shiro picked it up  
and leafed through the pages. Kidnapping drama? Weird nightmares…? Seemed like a good plo-

The sudden noise when he slammed the book shut caused Mephisto's ears to twitch irritably. The demon looked questioningly at him. And then  
the green eyes fell on the book.

"Good choice, it's a most captivating story~"

"'Captivating' my ass", he grumbled, feeling heat build in his cheeks. "Any chance you could conveniently snap your fingers and make me forget  
I ever saw that…?"

"I could~" His smirk grew into a full grin of impishness. "Then I could enjoy your face all over again, when you don't remember you've opened  
that book already."

"Tch, I guess I'll live…" He put the book to the side and reached for ano- "Are there any other things in here that I don't want to read?"

"What a bothersome guest I've gotten…" Mephisto snapped his fingers, and a handful of books stacked themselves neatly out of the way.

"That many…?" Shiro blurt before he could check himself. Seriously, that was… all that was dirty books about men…? "Don't worry about guests;  
all you need to do to make them leave is show your bookshelf."

"Words of an uncivilized monkey. The great works are great because they shine light on the shadows of human nature: those who can't appreciate  
them are usually the ones who strive to hide their shadows in the darkness~"

"Don't give me that look."

"What look~?" he asked with a masterful display of pristine innocence.

The look that was already done undressing him and was pondering where to place the first love-bite: _that _look. Rather than say that, Shiro pulled  
out a new tissue and blew his nose demonstratively: he was a disgusting monkey, not some French nougat Mephisto could sink his fangs into. As  
icing on the cake, and to the panda's disappointment, he put the crumpled tissue back in his pocket for later re-use.

Shiro could, with ill-disguised glee, watch how the shiver travelled all the way from the demon's spine out into the tip of his curl, making the hairs  
in his neck rise.

"Disgusting…" Mephisto shuddered, making the Hello Kitty beanbag slide further away from him.

It is true that humans are pleasure-seekers as much as demons are, and when restraint fails there is little that will keep them from neglecting  
duties in favour of indulgence. Frankly, Shiro thought he'd given duties enough time already, and he could indulge in one idle evening of  
watching anime, reading manga, and exchanging rudities with his pervert principal.

*** Funny anecdote, I guess… If you've ever read Göthe's ****_Faust_****, you might remember the encounter with the witch who doesn't**  
**recognize Mephistopheles. On the subject of culture and times changing, Mephisto admits that he did wear "fake calves",**  
**something that actually was quite popular among the aristocracy. They were used along with the snugly fitting stockings and**  
**heels, to even further accentuate the shape of the wearer's legs. And given Mephisto's clothing of choice, I suspect he does like**  
**to show off his legs… xD**

**** Speaking of legs: if you know what I'm referencing here, I'll marry you. =P**

**I feel a bit silly for pointing out things all the time, but I know for a fact that not all people have read Jules Verne. The thing  
here is that Verne had ideas ahead of his time in terms of mechanics, and wrote "impossible" and fantastic machines that spurred  
actual inventors to strive towards realizing them. For example, he wrote the electricity-powered submarine 1870, and 1954 people  
managed to construct a nuclear submarine that could match Verne's visions. (They named it ****_USS Nautilus _****after the his fictional  
submarine.) He described reverse osmosis-processes for turning seawater into drinking water that weren't implemented for  
actually making drinking water until 70 years later. He also made some quite decent calculations for how to launch a manned  
projectile to the moon as early as 1865.**

**_MW_**** is a very short, very good manga. It was a novelty at that time to have such open yaoi scenes (and it's written by a guy, at that!), but what's even more funny in this context is that the main characters are a Catholic priest, who has an affair with a sociopathic criminal mastermind. The priest is tormented by the struggle between conscience and emotion, and actually does blurt out to the (smug) criminal "You Mephistopheles!" at one point.**


	45. 45: A gamble

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

There are many ways to wake up, and hitting marble floor is one of the less recommended. Shiro cursed as he untangled himself from a fuzzy  
blanket he couldn't remember how he got himself into. Where the hell…? Mephisto's bedroom. He must have fallen asleep in the beanbag… And  
his glasses were missing.

Shiro patted around like a mole, searching the beanbag and the floor and the blanket, praying he hadn't crushed them in his sleep, until he  
remembered that his glasses _couldn't _fall off. Then someone must have…

He found them, neatly folded, on the little table by the empty bed. How… considerate. Immediately after he'd put them on, he cursed under  
his breath. Considerate enough to get him a blanket and remove his glasses: not considerate enough to wake him for school. The face of the  
miniature cuckoo clock read 13.22.

Shiro snatched his satchel from where he'd left it yesterday, fumbled the key into the lock and opened the door into cram school. He hurried  
through the empty corridors, back out into the parts of the building used for regular high school, getting quite a few stares as he hobbled along.  
Yeah, he must look like hell. Shirt flapping in all directions, tie loose, hair dishevelled; the archetype for a student who's overslept.

He got caught in a stream of freshmen pouring out from a classroom and had to wait for them to pass. Oh, crap… Among the faces glancing at  
him, there were two he recognized. Of course, two he didn't really want to meet – and they were already making their way over. Holding hands.  
Giggling.

If you're going to truly crush a guy, giggle at him.

"Look, about yesterday…" Shiro ran a hand through his hair, which must look like a bird's nest blown around in a tornado by now. "I… First of all,  
I'm sorry – really sorry – and second, I…" Come on, spit it out, idiot…

Meanwhile, both Sen and Midori were cracking up.

"Is okay, Shiro-kun…! Is my fault too, I should have… realized… mfufufufufuhahaha…!" Yeah, it must seem really funny… Shiro wished he too  
could snap his fingers and poof himself away. Preferably to Antarctica. "I like Shiro-kun, but not as mate…"

"You left yesterday before we could explain", Sen fell in.

"_They actually expected me to stay and _talk_…?_"

He _did _know that neither Midori nor Sen was… like ordinary people. Cultural differences, upbringing, heritage and all that, sure: but to say  
something like _that_you had to be from another planet.

"Where _did _you go last night?" Sen inquired when he remained silently dumbstruck. She covered an unusually animated smile with the hand  
not occupied with Midori's.

"Back to my dorm room, where else?"

This brought about even more giggles from the girls. What? His face was that red…?

"It must be someone special, for a bold guy like you to make up so poor lies", Sen said, looking him over with laughter in her usually empty  
eyes. "I will not believe a Todo did something like that."

Doubt knotted Shiro's bowels. What had Mephisto done…?

"Something like what?"

It was an agonizing wait as Sen rummaged around in her satchel. He was late for lessons already – screw that. If Mephisto had been up to  
something while he was asleep, that took precedence over-

Sen clicked open a black, lens-shaped thing that turned out to be a pocket mirror and held it up for him.

"_You… stupid demon._" Considerate? How had he ever gotten it into his head that Mephisto would take off his glasses because he was _considerate_?  
"I knew I shouldn't have said his Grendizer looked like a hamster chewing on a hot-dog…" He tried rubbing at the curly moustache. "Permanent  
marker, too…" He would so get back at him for this… "I would look great in a beard, though", he observed, turning his chin back and forth.

"I like eyebrows better~" Midori said with a bright grin.

Shiro tilted his head forward, and smiled as his forehead came into view.

"Looks like konbu", he chuckled. "Floating on the waves…" He wiggled his enlarged eyebrows, making Midori and Sen laugh in unison. Now that  
he knew, he couldn't understand how he hadn't noticed before. The way they leaned on each other, the way they used yobisute for each other,  
the way they _were_with each other.

"Oh, look, you have little star by your ear…" Midori leaned in for closer inspection, and halted with a confused look. "You smell like Pheles." She  
cocked her head and sniffed, a worry-line appearing between her eyebrows. "You slept with Pheles?"

Sen broke down in helpless giggles, narrowly drowning out the sound of Shiro's pride shattering against the floor.

"No I did NOT! And unless he miraculously grows boobs and a better personality, I never will!" At least a hundred different people glanced at him,  
saw his face, and concluded that they probably didn't want to know anyway.

"Oh, Shiro-kun…!" Sen was enjoying herself immensely, from the looks of it. "She means 'slept at Sir Pheles' place'! Midori, you… if you say it  
that way, it means they were intimate…!"

Midori's bewildered mien dissolved in pealing laughter, and he forgave her on the spot. The things he wouldn't do for a cute girl, even if she  
dated another girl…

"Forgive me, Shiro-kun!" she breathed, clutching her stomach. "What I mean and what words mean is not always the same. But, you did go  
to him, did you not? Even when you know he is dangerous." She shook her head with a look in between worry and incredulity. "Thinking doesn't  
go well in you."

"Well, I… I didn't know who else to ask about demons, and demon… habits." Sweet lord, when had he gotten flypaper on his tongue? Some words  
just wouldn't come out… "He told me it's a natural thing for you to… that you don't care whether it's men or women. So, I guess, if I'd known…"

"Were you sleeping in Demonology class, then? Kohu-sensei told us. Is why religion condense it: they think a man who likes men is possessed by  
a demon, or has been seduced by a demon."*

"Condemns it", Sen helped. "Here, this should work. For your face." She handed him a small bottle that read 'nail-varnish remover'. "You can  
return it whenever you like – if you knock first", she said with a look that made him go a shade of pink Mephisto would surely have approved of.

"Thanks", he smiled, wondering how in the world he had ever dared approach these aliens. "So we're okay, then? Despite everything…"

"Oh yes~"

"It's good to have it sorted out."

-

Long day. It was good, in a way, that he'd overslept. He needed every minute of it: he'd realized that earlier in the day when he ate both the  
nikuman and the paper.

He had to make a quick stop at the dorm before Knight practice, seeing as he hadn't brought his training clothes along the day before the  
unplanned sleepover. Good thing, then he could get Mephisto's bathrobe, too.

Saburota wasn't in at this time of day: Futotsuki-sensei had taken two weeks off to go home and see his relatives, on account of the unrest  
between different factions of the clan, and Saburota had been asked to substitute.

He had brought the mail in, though. Three envelopes waited for Shiro on his desk. Neither of them granted him a scholarship.

"_Shit…_" He bit the tip of his tongue and sat down on the bed, holding the documents in his hands.

What now? Those were the last three of all applications he'd sent, and they had all been declined. No money for next semester, then. No  
money to continue the chase and keep his soul if the saboteurs weren't caught this spring, and it was April already. A month and a half…  
There was no telling how long they would have to wait for that opportunity, and time wasn't something Shiro had. He might have to start  
thinking seriously about burglary again. An intense stealing spree over summer holidays might do it… if only he could avoid getting caught…

He lit a smoke. Saburota would chew his ears off for smoking indoors, but right now he didn't give a crap. He needed to think.

The thing was, he didn't have a gang anymore. At least one or two henchmen was imperative if you wanted to do breaks that would actually pay  
off, and you needed one more to scout and keep watch. He'd been off the streets for roughly three years now, he didn't have the connections – or  
the intel on territories and groups – to assemble a reliable team.

Selling organs…? He wasn't even sure what organs one could sell. He knew you only needed one kidney, but that was about it. A one-time income.  
How much would a kidney bring in, really?

It made him queasy to think about it, for that matter… He'd rather not lose any organs at all, if it could be helped… Shiro took the cigarette from  
his lips and blew out smoke slowly.

"_I wonder… if I could make him bet…_"

There was no way Mephisto would pay for him voluntarily: but what to bet…? It was tempting to play it safe, to choose a challenge he knew he  
could win, but you can't bait mice with empty traps. Mephisto wouldn't accept a bet he had no chance of winning. Maybe arcade games…? Tch,  
no. He hadn't had time to play a game for months, it would be like handing him the victory before betting. He hadn't had time to do anything but  
study and practice for the past…

"_It's stupid_", Reason told him. "_Got another option?_" Shiro asked, glancing again at the idea his self-destructive mind had tossed him.

It _was_ stupid. He was ill, and he was injured, and he was nowhere near as skilled as Mephisto was… and maybe, simply because of that… if the  
demon underestimated him enough…

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

-

He went it over in his head on his way up the stairs, trying every angle and possibility. It could work. Maybe. If there was a god, he wouldn't tip the  
scales in favour of a demon, right…? 'cause this would indeed require divine intervention…

"Goodness, what is that smell?" Mephisto's nose crinkled, and his curl curled itself tighter, as Shiro stepped into the underground base.

"Probably cigarette smoke mixed with acetone residue. Thanks for the eyebrows, they were a real hit with Midori-chan and Sen-chan", he smiled  
pleasantly.

"Quite the hypocrite, aren't you?" Mephisto cocked his head with a similar smile. "In me it's a perversion, and in her it's tantalizing...?" He swung  
the katana playfully by his wrist. "Kukukuku, the human mind and its entertaining quirks~"

"_Human_ quirks?" Shiro's lips pulled into a crooked smile as he took the waiting katana and unsheathed it. "I'd say you're disqualified from even  
commenting on it." He began the warm-up with movements that were, to his dismay, slightly shaky.

"Who is more qualified to voice observations on human nature than one who is apart from it? Who better knows the human heart and mind than one  
who can see through it like cobweb?" he declaimed with flourishing gestures, sounding like he enacted a scene in a play.

"And who is less suited than one whose sole aim is to corrupt it?" he returned, mimicking the lilting cadence with a cheeky smile. "A human would  
be best qualified to observe the nature of a demon, I would say."

"A human, whose single-minded aim it is to exterminate demons?" Mephisto strode into his measured movements, easing them from warm-up to  
sparring.

"Touché", Shiro smiled. "Gotta say, though; demons get all the perks. Magic and regenerating and all that." He made a first serious move, striking  
sparks as it was blocked. "Speaking of which: Kohu-sensei says Princes are immortal."

"She had better, or her salary would be wasted money."

"Well, are you?"

"I haven't put it to the test." He ignored a feint and parried Shiro's blow. "Lethal combat is a messy business, from what I hear. But yes, I am  
immortal."

"So you don't know what would happen if I ran this through you?"

"You would ruin my hakama", he dodged Shiro's next attack, "my shirt", slipped past his guard, "and my mood", and finished with the edge of  
the blade resting snugly at his sternum. "But do feel free to try~" he smiled into his ear, suddenly standing behind him.

"No bet?" Shiro returned, twisting around with an equally predatory smile.

"The Vatican doesn't encourage that kind of pastime, unfortunately."

Shiro backed and readied for a new round, the caress of his katana taunting a thin hiss from Mephisto's.

"What they don't know won't hurt them." He circled carefully, smile in place and senses coiled to spring. "Or us."

"A man after my own heart~" The demon smirked, joining in the slow dance, the tips of their swords almost touching. "If you can land a strike  
on me…?"

"You pay my tuition for a year." Jesus, Mephisto's eyes were _glowing_! Maybe this was a bad idea…? Tch, of course it was. But it was the only  
idea he had left. "And you don't go all out; no more than you've been doing up until now. And if I can't hit you…?"

That smile… Shiro's intestines curled up in a trembling knot. It didn't matter that his body was human: that smile belonged to a creature of hell.

"Then I will own you for a year~"

Quid pro quo. A year for a year.

Shiro's fingers curled tighter around the handle, feeling the texture of the woven bands. He was a reckless idiot, alright, but he pulled his stunts  
off most of the time. Could he afford to play the odds on this one…? Then again: could he afford not to? Risk one year as Mephisto's plaything,  
or risk losing his soul to the bastard…

"Deal."

"Oh~? Even for you, that is… reckless~" he purred, switching to a defensive pose like sand shifting in the wind. "Know neither the enemy nor  
yourself, and you will succumb in every battle. You need to learn your limits, Shiro-pon~"

"_We'll see about that…_" he thought, drawing a deep breath and letting it out slowly. One hit. One hit and all his worries would be gone.

-

He went all out right from the start. In a prolonged battle, he would tire and Mephisto remain fresh. If he was going to hit him, he would have to  
do it as soon as possible.

He knew every habit and telltale sign Mephisto made when they practiced. He parried left before the strike had fallen, cut at his legs as soon as  
he shifted his weight to move, aimed for the shoulder and angled for the neck.

There is only so much a human can do against a demon. Humans have restraint, in more than one way: the human body has limits, and they are  
not easily surpassed. Mephisto held himself back as agreed, but he was still on a whole different level. And Shiro was ill. His movements grew  
heavier, as did his breathing. His technique gave way to hazard, grasping desperately at straws that wouldn't be caught. Victory glittered cruelly in  
the forest green eyes. There was no way he'd manage to hit him: they both knew that.

Shiro's katana zinged furiously through the air. He had to hit him. Had to, had to, had t-

He staggered, clutching his bandaged side. His body bent in pain, and the katana dangled listlessly from his left hand.

"Shit…"

"Exceptionally unintelligent, even for you." Wooden sandals clicked on the pavement. "With or without injury, you couldn't have won." Closer, just a  
little closer… "Now, my little lion, you-"

Shiro launched forward like a coiled spring, using his bent body to throw the slash as far out as he could, and whipped the blade up with speed that  
sang in the air. It was a dead angle, but he should…

"_Fuck…!_"

He'd missed. He'd bloody missed. The angle had been right, but Mephisto had dodged it. Damn his demonic speed to hell…

"_I'm screwed…_" Shiro clenched his teeth, his mind rapidly telling him exactly what he could expect from the one year he would be slave to the  
demon. Screwed, in every sense of the word.

…or?

The look on Mephisto's face wasn't as smug as you'd expect: surprised, rather. He stroked the long bangs that curtained his face on the right side:  
they were considerably shorter than on the left side.

"Oya oya…" He let a few severed hairs sail down on the floor. "Not a hit, but not a miss. How rare, to tie in a bet." He smiled as if that outcome was  
far better than winning. "Consider yourself lucky, Shiro-pon~"

"Lucky?" He raised a disdainful eyebrow. "All warfare is based on deception. When able to attack, make yourself seem unable. You're not the only  
one who's read Sun Tzu."**

Mephisto put his hand on his hip with a snicker, merry light playing in his eyes.

"I didn't read him: I taught him."

-

He should have felt despair for losing. Well, he neither lost nor won, per definition. Didn't get what he had hoped, at any rate. Yet some small part of him felt like he'd won anyway.

**A/N: You know it from Tatsuma Suguro's flashbacks, yeah? Shiro is good at faking injury... And I just couldn't resist making something of the slightly shorter bangs on the right side of Mephisto's face. ;P**

* The idea here is to stretch it further into other aspects. Like "why is betting and gambling frowned upon by the Vatican?" Because  
demons do it. "Why do gluttony and greed give a ticket to damnation?" Because those traits are seen in demons (loads of candy,  
loads of money-he-won't-share – Mephisto is an old-school demon as well as a pioneering one). **Think of it as a kind of checklist of  
things not to do, because it attracts demons and/or would lead exorcists to suspect you were possessed by one.**  
**  
Why-am-I-doing-this? Er, because it seemed like a fun explanation for many things…? With an institution that's been in the  
demon-slaying business for two millennia, you'd expect it to show somewhere in the standards. The Cardinal Sins were, by  
some real-life "demon systematizers", said to have "physical shape" and be represented by this-or-that demon, kinda like  
King of Fire, King of Rot, and so on.**

**** Sun Tzu is this cool Chinese dude who assembled the most fundamental, most ingenuous guidelines for warfare in ~500 B.C. The  
stuff in _The Art of War_ still applies, and it's expressed in a most beautiful language.**


	46. 46: Kindred spirits

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

This time, finally, he remembered to bring Mephisto's bathrobe along. He'd been called up to his office by bat-mail, with his forgotten star pendant  
attached to it. Some minority of his self voiced the hope that it could be because the demon was considering paying his tuition anyway, but it was  
glared into silence by the more rational part of him. Mephisto was not one for charity.

It was the actual office, not the subterranean lake that usually greeted him when he opened the white door. He'd almost forgotten how flashy it  
was… And the desk had gotten a considerable contribution of robot toys.

"I was starting to think you liked it so much you would keep it", the now formally-dressed demon smiled when he poofed the bathrobe away to  
his mansion.

"And I was starting to think that if you thought I wouldn't pay for it, you'd raid my room at night." He grabbed the least fancy chair by the  
backrest. "By the way: aren't you gonna…?" Shiro put the chair down in front of the desk and snapped his fingers. "Poof that back?"

Mephisto ran the decimated tress of hair between his gloved fingers as Shiro sat down.

"I actually like it. Shows my jaw line in a most complimenting way." He smiled playfully at the face Shiro pulled. "It's a habit among immortals  
to keep mementos. Eternity is dreadfully dull without the occasional milestone."

"And I'll be remembered as the guy who gave you a haircut. Great."

"It's the best you could manage, apparently", he said with that look of idle amusement that was so typical of him. Spreading his hands, he added:  
"I _could _have remembered you as the boy who spent half a year chasing the tail of a girl he couldn't get."

"Oh, rub it in a bit more; I know you want to." His thoughts looped, and a grin spread on his face. "While you still can. I hear memory gets worse  
with age: must be inconvenient indeed for an immortal."

"Time doesn't affect me: think of it rather as being eternally young."

"A mirror would beg to differ", Shiro said smoothly, earning a sour look and a twitching eyebrow from Mephisto.

"A romantically inept boy with the eyesight of a mole is hardly fit to pass that kind of judgment. I'll have you know I'm the most sought-after  
bachelor this side of the Pacific."

Shiro didn't even respond to that: merely quirked an eyebrow and pulled a crooked grin.

Mephisto snapped his fingers, and a horrendous, glossy magazine flopped down in Shiro's hands. _Cosmopolitan_? Wasn't that a women's maga- oh  
was he even surprised…? The cover did rank multi-millionaire Johann Faust V as the most desirable man in Asia and Europe (where he supposedly  
hailed from). But the one smiling flirtatiously on the cover wasn't Mephisto. Or, hang on…

Shiro squinted at the photo. It _was _Mephisto. It was his smug smile, his drooping eyes and his glove on the hand that held the wine glass – no  
mistake about it – but the rest… He wore a dapper-looking striped suit, no doubt tailor-made, and a deep red shirt with black tie and gold pin. His  
hair was black, with the first hint of silver at the temples; his eyes were a clear, light gray, and human; there were no fangs in the grin, no pointed  
ears, no goofy hair curl… Shiro looked up at the real-life equivalent behind the desk.

"Is this what you look like to people who can't see demons?"*

"Yes. That's the original appearance of the body I'm possessing." He frowned ever so slightly. "Almost seven Zoll** shorter…"

Oh, so _that _was the reason for the heels…?

"Well, those women don't know you." He tossed the magazine on the desk: the sound of paper hitting hard surface alerted the little wastebasket,  
which came hopping over to him with an expectant gleam in its beady eyes. "So what did you call me here for?"

"Various matters. Your regular school teachers asked me to, for one. I am obliged to tell you that if you don't start handing in your neglected  
homework you will be suspended from school, without getting your final grades." Mephisto leisurely took a sip from a steaming teacup, as if it  
weren't any greater concern that Shiro might lose ownership of his soul even _before_ spring semester ended. Well, it wasn't any big concern. For  
him. "Second, I will be the main negotiator at the joint meeting with the Futotsuki clan leaders and True Cross Order representatives in May", he  
smiled. "And I want you to attend."

Shiro's eyebrows went up.

"'cause I'm known far and wide for my diplomatic skill. Why would I attend?"

"For once in your life: as a role model~ You", Mephisto pointed his teaspoon at him with a flick of his wrist, "are a rare amalgamation of opposing  
traditions. You already have the respect of two members of the Futotsuki clan, one of which introduced you to their ages-old ways of bonding with  
demons. And you study for the Order, more industriously than any Todo or Yaonaru ever has. But most important of all: me." Indeed, what could  
be more important? Shiro checked a smile. Even without heels, his ego was at least seven feet tall… "Impertinence aside, you have a commendable  
understanding of demon nature, which is a good quality in the eyes of both Futotsuki and exorcists – if for different reasons~" he added with an  
amused smirk, taking another sip of tea. "If the Futotsuki and the Vatican are to continue their cooperation, a sample like you might be the grain  
that tips the scales."

"Provided that I don't get kicked out of school before the meeting", he said bluntly.

"I'm counting on you to do your best to avoid that."

Shiro was about to deliver a scathing response to that when Mephisto's butler – Belial, was it? – appeared, completely unnoticed until then, and  
whispered something in his master's ear behind a white-gloved hand.

"Ah~ Excuse me for a moment, Shiro-kun."

"'I'm counting on you to do your best'", he imitated sourly as soon as Mephisto and Belial had poofed away. "And he wonders why I'm 'impertinent',  
bloody arrogant twat…"

He didn't want to risk falling asleep before Mephisto came back: those desk drawers were bound to hide at least one permanent marker. Instead, he  
turned to the panda. It had bounced restlessly around his chair the whole time, hoping for a treat. Rather than waste his precious tissue, he grabbed  
a notepad from the desk and crumpled a page. The wastebasket spun in merry pirouettes.

"_Suppose I do have a good understanding of demon nature, though…_" He hadn't really expected any compassion with that hint. From a human, yes.  
Not from Mephisto. "_Anything that isn't amusing or useful, or both, doesn't interest him in the least._" He tried what happened if he put the crumpled  
paper on the floor. Since the panda couldn't bend, it simply toppled over face down and munched up the trash. Then it rolled back and forth with  
squeaky, whiny sounds when it realized it couldn't get up again. Shiro lifted it back up and put a paper on the floor again, just to see if… "Aren't  
you just too stupid for words?" he chuckled as he had to lift it back up a second time. Maybe he could teach it more tricks? Wouldn't be hard, with  
such a glutton… Maybe it liked some kinds of trash better than others?

Shiro scanned the desk for things Mephisto might not miss. He looked at the steaming teacup on the tray. The teacup looked back. Shiro looked  
away, ensuring he had a firm grip on reason. He glanced at it sideways. It was still looking at him. Winking at him. Beckoning him with lewd  
promises woven into the steam that rose from it.

It was childish.

It was silly.

It was irresistible.

"_He's immortal_", he reminded himself. "_It won't really harm him, just… make him really mad…_" And what would Mephisto do if he _really _got mad?  
Shiro might get his head ripped off. Shiro might get a one-way ticket with Pink Bat-Airlines, end-station A Very Sharp Spike-fence On The Ground.

Worth it.

Shiro carefully memorized the location and angle of the cup: then he poured some of the tea back in the kettle and put it back. Ever since the  
possession in February, he carried a small hip flask with holy water on him, just in case. Unplugging it, he refilled the cup until it was about as  
full as it had been before.

When Mephisto poofed into the office, Shiro was back in his chair and teaching the wastebasket to lie down and roll.

"It really is thick", he confirmed with a grin. "Keeps going for the treat, even when he knows it'll bite him in the end." He tossed another crumpled  
paper on the floor, and the panda happily toppled over.

"What a wonderful pastime, teaching my familiar how to be useless…" Mephisto folded himself back into the chair, folding his gloved hands beside  
the teacup. No, don't look at it. Don't look at the cup. Do _not _look at the cup. "The meeting with the Futotsuki is the 10th of May: I will see to it  
that you are excused from classes entirely. Since it's an official trip we will be riding in the Vatican representatives' car, which is usually a rather  
unpleasant experience." He lifted the cup to his smiling lips. "Unless one is very short."

And…

Worth it. So worth it.

Mephisto's curl curled itself tighter, and his face… was the kind of face you pull when you down a glass of water in one gulp – or so you think, until  
you realize it's soap bubbles. It looked like he would turn visibly blue… and when Mephisto rushed into the bathroom, Shiro couldn't hold back  
anymore. He laughed so hard he almost fell off his chair.

"It's not funny!" the voice shrieked in between coughs and sounds of spitting and choking. "It burns, you stupid monkey! What kind of devil-spawn are  
you?! It's- ptwieh! I can't feel my tongue, you homicidal imp!"

"Comes with the job description: the greatest troublemaker True Cross Academy has ever seen~" He sauntered over to lean against the door frame  
and give Mephisto better view of his smug face; the moments he weren't hanging his head over the toilet, that was. "I just wanted to see what holy  
water would do to someone of your rank. Surely, a demon understands the temptation of curiosity…?"

The curl vibrated with ire as Mephisto spat another mouthful of black, sizzling miasma.

"You're an uncivilized, uncouth, unbearable, awful human being", he moped, picking duck-patterned paper from a tissue box and wiping his  
mouth. "Poisoning your principal, ingratiating yourself to my familiars…!"

Nobody could mope like Mephisto. It was like fine Swiss chocolate: once you develop a taste for it, nothing else will quite suffice.

"I just make use of my good understanding of demon nature~" Oh, there would be retaliation. Going for the treat, even when you know it will bite  
you in the end… "What was it? 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger'?" Shiro smirked, drinking in the caustic glares with pleasure. "And you  
can't die, so…"

"Oh, really? Shall I expect you to put a gun to my head when you get your Dragoon license?" he grumbled indignantly, flushing the black ooze  
down the drain.

"Haven't thought about that…" Shiro kept smiling amiably even when Mephisto got to his feet and towered over him. "Right now I'm pretty  
satisfied with spiking your tea." Tea. That's right, the _tea_… "You can consider it payback for doodling on my face. Quid pro quo~?"

Oh, it wasn't going to be quid pro quo. Never. Mephisto was used to coming out on top, and so was Shiro. When he left the office a while later, it  
was with the silent promise of continued rivalry cracking sparks in the air, and an expectant smirk on his face. The demon wanted a match? He  
would get one.

It is common knowledge that those who play with fire risk getting burnt. For some, the risk is the whole reason for playing.

**A/N: I have wanted to do this, every time there's a panel of Mephisto sipping his tea…83 *one of my life-quests is completed***

*** It just struck me that people without mashou couldn't see the horns and tail and stuff on the possessed guy that beat up Rin in  
the first volume, so I figure they wouldn't be able to see Mephisto's demonic traits either (or capture them on camera). Uh, it made  
sense when I wrote it…? ^_^'**

**I don't read women's magazines… |-P I think **_**Cosmopolitan **_**usually just ranks the hottest bachelors in the U.S., but I googled it and  
got hits for "sexiest man in the world", too. In 1976-speak I guess that would be "most desirable man in the world", for the sake  
of properness…**

**** I like old measurements – well, old things in general – because they speak interesting, often neglected facts about the people  
of the past. Ein Zoll corresponds fairy well to an inch, and is 1/12 of ein Fuß (foot). The foot is measured from an actual foot  
originally, of course, and that's the fun of it (I think, but I might be alone in that =P), because the size of peoples' feet vary from  
place to place. If you check Wikipedia's list on old measurements for Germany you can get anything from the older Fuß in Cremona,  
which was 480 mm, to the Fuß in Darmstadt that was standardized to 250 mm. People generally have bigger feet in Austria than in Germany…? =P**  
**  
Anywho, seven Zoll according to the Wittemberg Fuß (283 mm) equals roughly 16.5 cm, so Mephisto's body in this interpretation  
would only be 178.5 cm (compared to his post-possession 195 cm). Still taller than Shiro, though… x'D**


	47. 47: Desperate measures

**A/N: Right, so... This is the last batch for arc 1, up to ch 52. =3 The story will continue immediately in arc 2, but arc 2 won't be  
immediately published... because I need to focus on school for a while... So I hope you enjoyed the story so far, hope I'm not  
taking too much liberties with canon (...pfffweheeheeheeee...!), and I hope you... want to keep reading... x')**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Hey, Saburota-senpai?"

"It's sensei."

"Substitute-sensei, then." Shiro wished that Futotsuki-sensei would come back. "I have to run an errand over lunch break, so could I borrow  
your key to the supply shop?"

"What do you need from supply shop?" Saburota evened his stack of notes against the teacher's desk.

"Not me: Sir Pheles", he said casually. "He's busy with the Futotsuki affair, so he asked me to fetch him some more of that herbal tea. Just  
there and back again – you'll have your key waiting for you at the dorm this afternoon."

The look on the substitute teacher's face said that if Shiro was doing this just so he could flirt with Sayuri, he would sink even lower in his  
esteem. Saburota never brought up the story about Midori; that didn't mean he didn't know of it. Half the cram school did, it seemed. Shizuku  
had teased him for it for a week and showed no signs of tiring.

"Very well", he sighed eventually, rummaging around the pockets of his well-ironed and perfectly creased uniform. "Make sure not to lose it."

-

"G'day", he said cheerfully as he sauntered into the shop, hands in his pockets and a cigarette between his teeth. "How's business, Sayuri-chan?"  
A forest spirit, huh…? Well, she could mislead him in the woods any day she liked…

"Busy", she smiled, unpacking a new revolver with a pentagram emblazoned on the grip. "As are you, I hear. Will you really go for all five  
Meisters after exams this spring?"

"I'll try to. One semester at a time, though. I'm here on Pheles' behalf again. Have you got any more of that tea he's fond of?"

"I shall check that for you, just a moment…" She collected stray wood wool back in the crate and carried it behind the counter. "Isn't that a bit  
too much to ask of you? He must know you're busy, and yet he wants you to run his errands too?"

"There are times when I'd like to hit him in the head with a Bible", Shiro confessed with a smile and rested his elbows on the counter. "But I  
don't mind coming here to visit two such lovely ladies."

"Some mouth you've got", she chuckled from the cabinets. "I hear a lot about that, too. You're quite the hell-raiser. Speaking of which." She  
placed a strong-smelling parcel on the counter. "Could I have one of those?"

"A smoke? Well, sure… as long as you don't tell your mom." He gave her a knowing glance as he fished out a packet from his chest pocket.  
"Need a light?"

"No, thank you." She had a matchbook ready and lit the cigarette with accustomed ease. "She wouldn't care anyway. All she cares about is  
her garden." She blew a thin fan of smoke into the air, holding the cigarette between her middle and ring finger. Why is it that when a guy  
smokes, he looks cool; but when a woman smokes, she looks sexy…?

"She cares about you, too." Shiro held his cigarette forward, and she lit it for him with the tip of hers. "She just doesn't know how to show it."

"That's true for many parents, I suppose – just look at the Todos and the Yaonarus… What about your parents? You're not from an exorcist  
family, that much I can tell." She cocked an eyebrow with an ironic smile. "I know the name of every single one of them in the whole country.  
There's no Fujimoto around. It's a beautiful name, though."*

"The only good thing my parents gave me, I guess. They're both dead." He let out an amorphous cloud of smoke, then blew a hole through it to  
make a smoke ring.

"Oh. I'm sorry, I didn't know." Her eyes grew serious underneath the long lashes. "Demons…?"

"Not even that", he chuckled under his breath. "Suicides, both. Oh, well – there could have been demons involved, I suppose. I didn't have a  
mashou at the time." What's to say Hiromi had been human? She could have been possessed. Didn't really matter, though…

"What made you want to become an exorcist, then? How did you even learn of demons? If you don't mind me asking", she said hurriedly, realizing  
maybe she was being intrusive.

The story repeated itself in his mind: the plastic bag blowing away from the roof, the terrified Fuji, breaking into Mephisto's office… really, he'd  
stumbled over a pebble and fallen down a ravine…

"Twist of fate, I s'pose", he shrugged. "I got a mashou, and from there one thing just led to another. It suits me, I think…" He rolled the cigarette  
idly between his fingers. "I'm not very good with people." A wolfish grin spread on his lips as he thought of Mephisto's sulking glares at their last  
skirmish. "I seem to be better at dealing with demons."

"Careful with what you say there", Sayuri smiled.

"Pff, well, not _dealing _with demons", he chuckled.

"Hello, Shiro-kun. What are you doing here?" Agari asked from behind him. "Dealing with demons…?"

"Dealing _for _demons, rather", Sayuri smiled before he could open his mouth. "He's Sir Pheles' delivery boy. What can I do for you, miss?"

Shiro was quite sure he felt a second degree burn develop where Agari was glowering at his back. Wasn't that just great? When his own  
mouth didn't sabotage things, others' did it for him…

"I'll be going, then", he excused himself hurriedly and took the parcel. "Thank you, Sayuri-chan."

Oh, the glare he met when he turned around…

"Don't make your master wait, delivery boy." And a tone to match…

As so often happened, Shiro had responded before he could think:

"Yeah, it's hard to let a little cuddle-bun like him out of sight for long, don't you agree…?"

Oh, it was beautiful. It was like watching an avalanche from a distance: a shining mass of cold death set in motion, it picked up speed and  
built by degree, built and built, until finally… realization hit with full force.

-

Shiro sprinted along the aqueduct, faster than he had ever run before, grinning like an idiot. Worth it. He would preserve that look on her  
face in a sacred corner of his mind forever. He flipped out his switchblade as he ran and made a cut in the back of his hand, calling shahrokh  
to carry him away from what had to be the fiercest enemy he'd met by far.

-

"Okay, how do I do this…?" he muttered.

He had boiled tea water in the dorm kitchen and was deciding how much of the dried herbs to put in the tea infuser. He didn't know how much of  
the stuff Mephisto used, or what would be a suitable dose for a human: only that it would let you work night and day, and that was what he needed  
to do to catch up with his homework.

One dash? It looked pitifully little, that couldn't give any effect… Two dashes? Maybe… He ended up adding a third, since he had a test in exorcism  
history in two days. It gave off a dark, brownish red colour in the water, and it smelt just like Mephisto's tea.

"_Right…_" he glanced at the bag of sweets he'd purchased as preparation. "_Bottoms up._"

He almost spat it out immediately. How the hell did Mephisto drink this without even blinking…? Taking a deep breath and pinching his nose, he  
downed the cup quickly.

"_Alright, so now I just… wait and see?_"

-

Shiro woke up in the infirmary with no memory of the past four days, needles taped into his arms and a clip on his right index finger, and  
humming machines measuring all kinds of things on him. Moriyama-san came by twice, to give him brews that would re-stabilize his gut flora,  
and reprimanded him for tricking her daughter and trying to drink something adapted for demons. Shizuku and Ryuuji came by to ask if he had  
ever thought about moving in permanently in the infirmary, since that's where he usually ended up anyway. Midori and Sen came by to wish him  
well, and to express their amazement that he had managed to hand in half a year's worth of homework in half a week. Mephisto came by to  
congratulate him on being too dumb to be alive, but expressed it in more sophisticated ways.

In all, Shiro thought his little experiment had turned out well. Until he realized he'd lost his cram school key.

*** I didn't even know, but it makes me so happy! I could only get the first part of Fujimoto translated properly, but it means Wisteria – my**  
**favourite tree! Turns out there is even a specific kind called Shiro Noda, with white flowers. =3**


	48. 48: Das Labyrinth des Limbus

**A/N: ...I can not tell you in words how nervous I am. I really don't want to screw this up... *cowers***

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

He caught rides with Shizuku and Ryuuji to begin with, and could only hope to heavens that his own key turned up. Nobody had seen it, and  
Mephisto couldn't locate it even though it was created using his power. He'd given an explanation when Shiro had asked why, but it had been  
far too complicated for him to understand and somehow involved jellybeans.

It would turn up, eventually. Whoever had found it must be randomly waltzing about the cram school corridors sometime soon. So when Mephisto  
informed him that something – or someone – had been caught in das Labyrinth des Limbus, he face-palmed with a groan.

"You think it's someone who found my key?"

"The presence is human, to be sure", Mephisto said, engaged in his latest hobby: arranging the toys in his office in the glass cabinet. "And since  
all exorcists and cram school students know not to enter the off limits areas, I can only conclude that the trespasser is an outsider. Should I give  
the mechas a level of their own, or should I put them with Kamen Rider? They go so nicely with the Kamen Riders…" He snapped his fingers and  
made the little figurines rearrange. "But then one can't see all the separate details…"

"Right, so… will you get whoever-it-is out of there today, or when you're done playing with your toys…?"

"That might take a while~ Rather, I'm going to send in search team with custom-made exit keys. Dissembling and reassembling the labyrinth would  
be quite tedious work; and besides, I wouldn't want the rat to slip the trap." He snapped his fingers again, apparently not happy with how _Astro Boy_'s  
colour scheme clashed with _Cutie Honey_'s. "There are wards inside the labyrinth that the saboteurs have not been able to reach – yet. Which leads  
me to think our trespasser may or may not have stumbled in there accidentally. So~" The green eyes drifted from the cabinet to Shiro. "How  
would you like to be on the team and get your key back?"

-

"Okay, so… How about we introduce ourselves? I've been appointed leader of this search group, and my name's Inoue Katsu. I'm an intermediate  
first class Knight and Tamer, but I prefer fighting as Knight."

He looked like one. You could hang him on a Medieval tapestry and his tall, broad frame would fit perfectly in among the armoured Crusaders.

"Yoshitaka Daisuke, junior first class Aria and Tamer", said a smaller guy who constantly fidgeted with his nails.

"The one with the eidetic memory?" Katsu said. "I've heard about you – good work on the ghoul invasion over at Northern True Cross."

"Thank you", Daisuke smiled shyly. "I've heard of you too, senpai."

The next one, he recognized…

"Yaonaru Akihiro." Apparently, the jerkface considered that all the presentation he needed. Well, everybody knew who Yaonaru were, but Shiro  
was the only one who knew why his nose was slightly crooked.

"Sakubara Ayako", said the team's only girl: a petite, feline thing. "Intermediate second class Knight and Dragoon. And for this mission, tracker."  
She tapped her nose with a pleasant smile. A half-demon girl. Knew better than to try his luck there.

"The shrine priest's daughter", Katsu observed in interested tones. "I hear you're quite the prodigy with a khakkhara. Would you mind sparring  
some day?"

"I hear you're highest ranked in your year class, senpai: it would be my pleasure~"

Why, _why _did they have that… that something that ordinary girls didn't? Shiro suddenly realized everybody was waiting for him to speak up. Ugh…  
It nagged him more than he would admit that he was the same age as some of them, and had so much less experience. Tch, whatever…

"Fujimoto Shiro. I… am an Esquire, and I study to Meister in everything." He gestured at both the scabbard at his left side and the holster at his  
right side.

"_You're _that guy?" Daisuke said, eyeing him with a mixture of expectations defeated and curiosity kindled. "I heard you memorized half of Jeremiah  
in your first four weeks and took down a mid-level naga singlehandedly."

"I did, but I had help, too. A familiar and a girl in my class, Sakura Midori-chan."

"You're Midori-san's friend?" Ayako eyed him with an appreciative little smile. "I heard you exorcised yourself from possession using Futotsuki's  
secret arts."

"That's true…" he admitted, taken aback by how fast word got around. There weren't that many cram school students compared with how many  
regular students the Academy had, but still…

"And I heard, from Toshio-sensei, that Sir Pheles himself took you out of Knight class", Katsu fell in. "If you still study for all five Meisters… does  
that mean _he _is your teacher?"

"Yeah." There was no real way to lie about that; better to admit it straight out than make it sound suspicious. "Honestly, I'd rather have  
Toshio-sensei", he said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish face. "Pheles is a slave-driver, and his approach to teaching is pretty  
much 'you learn better by getting burnt than by being told the hotplate is warm.'"

So maybe he didn't have their field experience and years of study, but he did have a reputation to make up for it. The only one who didn't  
comment on his sprawling fame was Akihiro: but on the other hand, he was the only one with first-hand experience of Shiro's performances.

"The objective of the operation is as follows: find the idiot who's in there, and get out. Simple." Shiro concluded that Katsu was a guy he could  
get along with: straightforward, and relaxed. "The keys you've gotten don't look like the usual skeleton keys, and that's because they aren't."  
He held up his key for demonstration: it lacked teeth whatsoever, and was more of a small metal rod with a handle. "These don't need any door,  
for the simple reason there are no doors out of the labyrinth. It's a looped dimension: you can get in, but you can't get out. So lose this key, and  
you'll have to hope we feel kind enough to go in a second time and search for you. To get out, just stick it in the wall and turn clockwise: they all  
lead to the same spot. According to Sir Pheles there are three or four demons currently trapped in there that might still be alive, but none of  
them strong enough to give us any serious trouble. If you still feel you'd rather have somebody to hold hands with, team up with someone:  
otherwise, it will be quicker if we all spread and search individually. Ayako-chan, you point us in likely directions using your nose, and the rest  
comes down to good old-fashioned manual labour. Reassemble in 1600 hours to report: if we've found the dumbass, good. If we haven't, we're  
going in one more round. Any questions, ladies and gentlemen?"

-

They trotted single-file to the off-limits section of the Academy. It was very simple, really: a door marked with a filigree sign that said OFF LIMITS,  
flanked by stars on each side. Had to agree with Katsu, you had to be a dumbass to get trapped in there… "In there?" There was _nothing_ there:  
the corridor behind it looked just the same as all the others.

"Say, Katsu-san; when do we enter the actual labyrinth?" Daisuke asked up ahead.

"We just did", the tall Knight confirmed. "What you see is an illusion the labyrinth puts on so we won't realize we've fallen into the trap. If you have  
strong faith, you might see through it that way: otherwise, rubbing holy water in your eyes will do the trick. I've got some on me, for those who  
need it."

Shiro used his own from his hip flask. When he put his glasses back on, what he saw was entirely different.

The human mind is designed and trained to process the world it is born into: outside that, it has no references to identify what its senses pick  
up, and fumbles awkwardly with inadequate words and vague metaphors to describe what it finds. If breath had colour, that would be the  
colour of those walls: if worry had shape, that would be their twisting, rippling texture. That was the only way Shiro could put words on the  
strange world around him.

"What can you tell us, Ayako-chan?"

Sound didn't travel through the air as usual, either. It was very annoying, to hear everything as though you had conductive hearing loss.

"A human has passed by here. Male." She walked ahead into what Shiro had perceived as a solid wall, but that proved to be an optical illusion:  
the half-demon followed her nose through a… corridor… tunnel… It seemed to move and twist as they walked, making Shiro slightly dizzy.  
"Demons crossed his track and followed it." She sniffed again, and her nose crinkled in disgust. "A rot demon."

"Any signs it caught up with him?" Akihiro asked.

"Not that I…" Ayako's eyebrows pulled together. "He… crossed his own track." She stopped where the passageway forked in at least four  
directions. "Several times. And the most recent track is…" she turned, sniffing all directions, face growing more and more confused. "Back  
where we came from", she concluded, pointing. "This is crazy."

"It's a custom-made dimension", Katsu said, shrugging. "It was designed to be confusing."

"I know all about custom-made dimensions", Ayako frowned. "There was a family of kitsune whose cubs I used to play with back home. They  
create illusions and dimensions, too, but not like this. The scent says our target passed by just minutes ago: we should have _met_ him. Confusing  
as magic-made dimensions can be, they are consistent within themselves. This one, as far as I can tell, isn't."

"What you say is that we were in the same place at the same time, and we still didn't see him?" Akihiro said with a perfect mirror of Kita's  
Impatient and Annoyed Look. "Wouldn't that be the definition of impossible?"

"Not if it's more than one space-loop", Shiro said. He had picked up some things from hanging around Mephisto, after all. "You said magic-made  
dimensions are consistent within themselves, yeah? But what if this one isn't? What if there are several more loops where space bends within  
the labyrinth? So that even if we go back there", he nodded in the direction they had come, "the passageway won't lead back to the same place?"

"Multi-layered, asymmetrical spatial distortion within a looped, and thereby per definition symmetrical, dimension? Do you have any idea how  
much effort it would take to keep such a thing operational?" Akihiro snorted.

"_Do you have any idea how little effort it would take to crack your nose back to it's original shape?_" Shiro thought to himself, but settled for a  
different cheeky response: "None, actually. Care to elaborate on it, or should we admit straight away that any calculations applying to the real  
world don't apply here, and that it's impossible to go about this as a normal search mission?"

"If Ayako-chan and Shiro-san are right, it is impossible", Katsu's calm, reverberating voice concluded. "I can't repeat what Akihiro-san said about  
multi-layered distortion, but it's clear to me that searching section by section systematically is out of the question. With no way of organizing  
this, I say we split and just hope we stumble over the idiot. Any objections to that? Good. See you again at 1600 hours."

There was no light, and yet it wasn't dark. There were shadows where shadows shouldn't be, and they moved with a life of their own. What  
looked like walls weren't always walls, and passages weren't always passages. Frankly, the whole place screwed with your head, and Shiro felt  
that his was being screwed right off his neck. Imagine being caught and never finding your way out of this place…

…and getting shot at.

Shiro flattened himself against the wall, gun in hand. Good luck judging distance in here… He fired a quick two shots around the corner, ducked  
low and peeked from knee-height. Who were the other Dragoons on the team…? Akihiro and Ayako, right? Probably that inbred dick, then…

He didn't see anyone, and so sprinted ahead – only to reach a fork. Tch… Maybe it was just a mistake? Someone who had taken him for a demon?

"_A demon that shoots back? Not likely. And they would've given a shout when they realized the mistake._" He went ahead more carefully, gun  
unsecured in his hand. "_I should get out right now and tell Mephisto…_" But he hadn't actually _seen _anything, and he didn't know what kind of  
girl Ayako was – maybe… "_What the…? 'Nothing strong enough to give us serious trouble', you say?_" He aimed his gun slowly, moving as little  
as possible, at the huge, slobbering bull ghoul that trained its hollow eyes on him. "_In what fucking world is that not serious trouble, Mephisto?_"

Shiro had run through three forks, emptying at least two magazines into the charging demon, before he literally ran into Daisuke.

"If you've got the chants for ghoul type demons, start chanting!" Shiro shouted, getting to his feet and aiming at the passageway he'd come from.  
Waiting, tense as a violin string… "Huh… must've taken a wrong turn somewhere", he mumbled through his speeding heartbeat. He brought the  
gun down, but neither secured it nor put it back in the holster.

"You met a demon?" Daisuke dusted himself off. "I almost envy you. I haven't seen a thing except this." He gestured around at the same strange,  
colourless walls they had seen forever. "Thank god it's almost four p.m.. We've only been here two hours, and I feel like I'm losing it. I can't  
even imagine what it must be like to actually be lost in here…"

Oh, it was a relief to get out. To see _colours_, and things that had _shape_, and things that had _purpose _and didn't move… An enormous fatigue  
came over Shiro. Hadn't realized how much that dimension had drained him…

Last one out of the bathroom door was Katsu – with…

"_He seems awfully familiar…_" Shiro scowled, trying to remember where he had seen that kid before. Something about that face… Oh, yeah.  
Something about that face dishevelled, crumpled up in fear and close to tears. Just the bleeding nose missing, really…

"Hi, kiddo. Remember me? Got something that's mine?" he said, watching as the freshman produced his cram school key from his trousers' pocket.

-

"His name is Ayabito Susumu", Mephisto read aloud from a file, looking exceptionally bored. "First year in regular high school, good grades but  
not exceptional, comes from Eastern True Cross Town… no connection to Yaonaru, Todo, Futotsuki, or anything at all related to exorcism."  
Mephisto closed the file. "Except on the occasion he was beaten up and got his eyebrows burnt off by an exorcist student." He tilted his head  
to the side. "I must confess I am slightly curious about that."

"He said my glasses looked stupid", he muttered.

"Well, they do, in a way…"

"_Don't_ even go there", Shiro warned, glaring at the smirking demon. "I've had a crap day, and I've still got a mag left for the gun, if you don't  
wanna wait 'til I get my Dragoon license."


	49. 49: Shahrokh 1

**A/N: Pop-quiz! How many of you remember my euphoria over the word shahrokh in ch 12? As a recap, it means three things: a  
demon, a chess manoeuvre, and "a great gamble/opportunity". Now, you can figure out that chess manoeuvre by taking the word  
apart: _shah_ = king, and _rokh_ = rook. It's a move the king and the rook make together. And now, ladies and gentlemen; time to see  
if the king and the rook can pull this gamble off…**

"Saburota-senpai is an awful teacher", Shiro complained in between strikes. "With Futotsuki-sensei, seals and wards were fun. With him it's  
just… lines and angles."

"You should study the subject, not the teacher." Easy for him to say, he didn't need seals to summon demons… "And you should keep that sloppy  
pose a bit more-"

Mephisto froze mid-strike.

"The wards…"

"Another one down?" Shiro asked, but knew the answer would be no. This was not a reaction to a torn ward.

A ghastly grin stretched the demon's lips.

"_All _went down. And I was just growing impatient~" Mephisto sheathed his sword. "You stay here." With a poof, he was gone.

"Like hell!" Shiro snorted, sheathed his own sword and ran.

He only had the key going to the practice range and the key going to the cram school. He took the one for cram school out long before he  
reached the entrance to the base, and wasted no time slamming it into the lock and turning it.

It surprised him how he had… planned it. As he speeded down the almost empty corridors, some unknown part of his brain presented him  
the step-by-step plan on what to do. Solomon's Seal had its centre in Deep Keep. Whatever it sealed was down there, and so were the  
saboteurs, and Mephisto. And the only ones who had keys…

Shiro's map-reading was cut short by a huge lizard, setting doorframes on fire as it crawled leisurely through the corridor. He spat out the  
verses that would kill it while running and watched the miasma gush out and evaporate.

"_First sign the wards are down, huh?_" He clenched his teeth and kept running. He knew exactly where he was going…

"Oi, Saburota-senpai!" Shiro threw the door to the classroom open. He was there, thank the gods… "The key. Gimme your key", he panted  
heavily. "To Deep Keep."

"To Deep Keep?" Saburota didn't appear bothered by seeing him covered in goblin blood, or even aware that the school was being overrun  
with demons. He had just been about to pack up his drafting compass. "May I see your permit, Fujimoto-kun?"

"Look at me, you ass!" he snarled, so glad that he was taller than the guy he was yelling at. "Do I look like I have time to get a blasted permit?!"

"You look like one who needs to slow down and think about how you address your superiors. Protocol dictates-"

Shiro head-butted him and shoved a knee in his belly as he bent forward. Good thing Saburota was too entangled in regulations to ever think  
that a student might attack him…

"You can shove your protocol someplace." He dumped the half-conscious exorcist inside one of the warding circles the classroom was equipped  
with and dug out every key he could find in his pockets. "And by the way, you suck at this job."

He snagged a paper summoning circle from the portfolio on the desk – never knew what he might get himself into – and tried the keys one  
by one on the classroom door, until-

"_This must be it._"

He hadn't had any particular image of Deep Keep, but this had to be it. Like a subterranean bank, with vault after vault grafted into the walls  
of the corridors, hidden behind massive steel doors adorned with seals. And in one of them, probably…

"_How am I supposed to know which one it is when they all look the same…? And where are the guards?_"

He ran along the main corridor, throwing glances down every one that branched off of it. He could only hope to spot a door with its seal broken…  
And hope his elephantine footfalls miraculously didn't alert the saboteurs… He found one guard – spilled all over the floor from a clean cut straight  
across his torso. Two white streaks in his hair – a Todo…? Well, he was dead: better worry about the living. Whatever he meant by that.

"_I don't have a goddamn clue what I'll do if I find it… if I can do anything…_" he thought, breath heavy as he neared the end of the main corridor,  
where it made a sharp turn to the right. "_I hope my brain's got a plan for that, too…_" He rounded the corner and almost got his head cut off. "Oi,  
take it easy!"

Mephisto looked as surprised as he was: an expression that vanished quick enough.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"Helping you catch the saboteurs; that's the deal we made."

"Eins, zwei, drei!"

No poof. No pink smoke. Mephisto was about to snap his fingers again, but halted: sharp, dark claws had pierced the fingertips of his gloves. An  
expression flashed across his face that made Shiro's bones shiver.

"The audacity…!" he growled – actually _growled _– as he tossed the gloves and set off running.

"You've lost your powers? How?" Shiro had to bust a lung to keep up with his long legs. "Just what the hell's going on?"

"My powers have been sealed." He skidded around a corner into a side corridor. "There are very few seals that can accomplish such a thing, but  
they exist. If you know what you're looking for. Meanwhile; barriers, keys, defences – everything dependent on my power: poof", he said, dark  
humour curling in his voice.

Meaning it was getting worse up there…

"How do we get your powers back?" Shiro wheezed in one breath, running like he'd never run before in his life.

"Not we. I." He swung the sword's handle at his head. If Shiro hadn't been training with the demon regularly, he would never have been able to  
read the signs in time to duck and skid under the blow.

"Oi, knock it off! If the school's in danger I wanna help!"

"Not with this." Mephisto's eyes were different – hell, all of him was different. He was-

A convulsion shook the demon's body, and he coughed…

"Is that… miasma?" Shiro stared as Mephisto clamped a hand over his mouth.

The demon didn't reply. He didn't look healthy to begin with, but now… this was not good, _not _good: all colour drained visibly from his skin,  
and he was shivering… He ran on in the same direction, but he was a lot slower.

"You better tell me what's going on, quick." Shiro slung one bony arm over his shoulder to support him – not that there was much to support,  
he was skinny as a twig. "Does this have something to do with Solomon's seal being broken?"

"That? That's not the seal. It's the mirror, a link to the real seal", he whispered, his voice strained as if he were trying hard not to throw up as  
they staggered onwards. "The real one is in a pocket dimension, a third dimension where Assiah and Gehenna tangent. The seal around the  
Academy kept the pocket dimension closed to physical interference, but open for magic to pass through." He stifled a cough in his hand, miasma  
seeping out between his fingers. "If that seal is removed the pocket will open, giving access to the real seal."

That looked to be what they were headed for: smack in the middle of the corridor, an oddly shimmering surface… orb… thing? Shiro couldn't focus  
his eyes properly on it: it was a lot like the rippling illusion created by warm asphalt, giving the impression there's water on the road up ahead.

"I can't cross that", Mephisto growled, pulling Shiro to stop outside a warding circle drawn around the shimmer. "They came well prepared…  
Destroy it."

"_If _you tell me what you've sealed in there."

And to his surprise, the reply was immediate. And very short. And the last thing he would've expected to hear.

"Me."

"What? But you're here…?"

"It seals my heart, the source of my power. Can't fit all of it in a physical body, it would disintegrate…" The thin body shivered and quaked next  
to him.

"_There's something he's not telling me…_" That aside, he was already spilling way more than he ever had before; and way more than he really  
wanted to. "And what's happening right now is…?"

"Not that I have any previous experience of it", he coughed again, "but I think I'm being exorcised."

If what he said was true, it changed everything. If Mephisto wasn't a villain who kept a gargantuan monster of a demon stashed away in his  
basement…

"_I was wrong. Thank goodness…_" Shiro scraped his katana over the lines and broke the ward.

-

They melted through the rippling surface, and the world around them became the kind of textureless, confusing mish-mash of shifting landscape  
Shiro recognized from das Labyrinth des Limbus. And from the direction of a pulsing light around a bend, they heard a voice chanting.

"I don't recognize any of that", Shiro whispered, brow furrowing at the foreign tongue. "The hell's he chanting?"

"That's Aramaic…" Mephisto breathed, eyes huge in his greyish face. "But… I destroyed the-" More miasma welled up before he could check the  
cough, and little black globs fell to the ground with a sickening, sizzling sound. "My fatal verses…!" he croaked out.

"Weren't you immortal?" He did _not_like Mephisto's rapidly deteriorating condition.

"Only if my heart is out of harm's reach… and it isn't…"


	50. 50: Shahrokh 2

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

The already confusing cavity twisted and bent in the light of… fire, for lack of better word. Inside a humongous hourglass-shape of two pyramids  
joined at the tips, black fire trickled down from the top chamber, white trickled up from the bottom one: and when the two switched places,  
they switched colour. The shadows of six people flickered on the cavern walls, their bodies nothing but sharp silhouettes in the light. A huge  
seal, the Secret Seal of Solomon, had once encircled the hourglass, but was scraped out of use: an intricate binding seal was painted in its place.

"Six of them." He looked back at Mephisto, who was leaning heavily against the wall. The purple bangs glued to his skin, and his breathing  
was quick and shallow. He looked like he was about to pass out. "If I break that seal, your powers return?"

"Yes."

"Swell. I'll expect the cavalry in a minute, then." False hope is better than none, at least when you look like that…

A clammy hand caught his shirt when he'd turned around to go.

"Don't…" Mephisto swallowed with effort. "Don't… break the container. Under any circumstances. They've… fully activated my heart,  
somehow… fully vulnerable to the chant… make them… stop…"

"You got it."

-

There is no real way of sneaking into a dead end with only one entrance. Then again, with the anti-demon fortifications on the way, it  
wasn't likely they expected to be disturbed.

"Oi! Stop that!" The moment of surprise was brief, but valuable: Shiro seized the guy closest by and held him like a shield, sword to  
his throat. "Stop chanting!"

"Idiot. We went into this prepared to die", the guy said in a calm voice: first sign that this… was not going to be easy.

"He's human", another shadow observed, a female.

"So?" said the guy Shiro held. "Sacrifices can be made. One less of the demon's dogs…"

"_Shit just got serious._" Shiro felt a chill run down his spine as light danced over the woman's face. It was Natsuya, the number one Dragoon  
in the entire Academy. "Stand back or he dies", he snarled, pulling his hostage closer to make sure she didn't have a clear aim on him.

"Not before you die", she said calmly, training a gun at him. But her eyes weren't on him…

Shiro ducked just in time to feel a blade zip hair off the top of his head. Before he knew it, he'd slit his hostage's jugular, his sword trailing a  
red streak in the air as he swung it around at the attacker behind him. Steel met steel, and the sharp clank soaked into the squirming walls.

"Agari… chan…?"

The flickering of the white light was the only movement in her face. Cold. Rigid. The kind prepared to die for her beliefs.

A gunshot rang a short, reverberating crack, but was sucked up by the walls. The bullet bit into the surface way off its mark and shattered,  
like glass.

"Hey, Agari-chan! You don't have to do this!" She was good with a sword, but she was no Mephisto. Shiro had no need to fear for his  
safety – unless one counted the other four in the dimensional pocket… "I don't know about them, but you're not batshit-crazy. Whatever  
you think you're doing, stop it."

"Shut your mouth", she hissed, turning angles on a hairpin to create an opening.

"_She's going to kill me…_" he realized in a detached manner, as his body carried on the parrying on autopilot. "Oi, I don't wanna kill you!  
There has to be som-"

The bullet whizzed closer this time, but still pitifully off. What was up with that? Natsuya was supposed to be the Academy's best marksman…

"Just hit him!" Agari snarled at her, sweeping at Shiro's head and leaving a thin, stinging red line on his throat.

"_She's going to kill me._" The thought became clear and sharp as a breath in winter morning. Agari would kill him. Agari would kill him with  
the same cold determination she had tried to kill Midori. Just like she was trying to kill Mephisto. "_If I kill her…_"

He tried to imagine the light going out in those hard, dark eyes. He tried to imagine Agari topple to the ground in slow motion, limp and  
empty. He imagined time stopping just as she hit the floor.

Imagination. The lies we tell ourselves, pretty or ugly. The light didn't go out, and she didn't fall slowly. She just fell. Not a word, not a  
twitch. Dead. Terminally, irrevocably dead.

Time didn't stop. Neither did he. Once you walk over the edge, you have no choice but fall to the bottom. If these people were prepared to  
die, and kill, then he would have to be the same.

He brushed the back of his hand over the edge of his katana and summoned shahrokh to draw the fire from Natsuya's gun. Something was  
off with her aim – maybe the atmosphere in this dimension was different – but a lucky shot is as good for killing as a well-aimed one.

He charged for the seal, but jumped back as a bullet shattered right in front of his feet.

"I can't aim", a tall girl said in a rich, masculine-sounding voice. She circled to position herself between him and the binding seal. "You finish  
him off, I back you up if he tries to reach the seal."

The Knight, Katsu, that had led the search in the labyrinth: highest ranked in his year class…

"Why, hi there. You the one who tried to snuff me in the labyrinth, then?" He heard gunshots from Natsuya, answered with rumbling growls. As  
long as he kept moving and didn't get too close to either Dragoon, hopefully…

"That was a warning. You are making a serious mistake, Fujimoto Shiro-kun." The spear-tipped khakkhara jingled like a rattlesnake in his  
hands, rippling under the steady chant that filled the place. "It's not too late for you to open your eyes and lay down your weapon."

Wow… the kind of speech you'd hear in a crappy film… He didn't have time for that. The chanting Aria sat cross-legged a few feet away from  
the hourglass, further into the cavity. Maybe…

"Shahrokh! Take that guy!" The familiar turned sharply at his command, flying at the sitting shape…

Shiro reacted just in time not to be skewered on the sharp end of Katsu's khakkhara. He slapped it away with his sword, but the Knight  
followed the movement through with a spin and numbed his arm with the heavier end of the staff. This wasn't like fighting a Knight with a sword…

A sharp, purple burst of light flashed through the cavity, and the shrill, agitated cry of the familiar reached his ears. Another protective circle  
around the chanter, then. They sure had come prepared…

"Help me out here!"

Had to work fast, had to work fast… He deflected another stab, this time prepared to block when the other end came around: or so he thought,  
but Katsu went into close combat instead. Not good, not with a guy that size…! Shiro backed, sword ready to stave off… over the heavy beat of  
shahrokh's wings, he heard the crackling sound of branches growing faster than normal: the wooden body of Katsu's khakkhara had sprouted  
twigs that grew into snugly fitting branches around his arms.

Shiro drove his sword home straight into the immobilized Knight's gut. It could just as well have been his own.

"_I shouldn't be able to do this…_" Not for very long, the tight feeling in his stomach told him. This was survival-mode, and it let him do things…  
things he could do because the fire from all those years ago had never gone out… but he wouldn't be able to keep his mind in this detached  
state much longer. Katsu sagged to the ground in a pool of blood. "_I have to get to that blasted seal…_"

Another gunshot, so close it made his head ring. Shahrokh's fierce growl turned shrill, and became a low, howling gasp. The demon went down,  
miasma oozing from her shuddering shape. Shiro dashed to cut down the tall Dragoon before she could turn the gun on him, but fell flat with  
an agonized gasp. His leg, his damn leg was on fire…

"That should keep you in place." Behind him, Natsuya had holstered her gun and used Agari's sword to slice up his calf. "Dog."

"We should kill him", the other one said, doing it already with her hard eyes. There was no missing from that distance, even with a strange  
atmosphere… "After what he did to the others. He's sided with Satan and his minions; he can die with them."

"I think he should live." Natsuya circled to stand between him and the hourglass, sword-tip carefully aimed at his head. "At least long enough  
to see his master die first."

These people… just who the hell were they? Rather than slip out of his cold survival-state, Shiro sank deeper into it; discarded any restraints  
set by compassion like a set of worn-out clothes. Either they died, or he did. It's a very simple choice to make, once all other options have  
been disabled.

He tightened his grip on the katana discreetly and pushed the pain in his leg out of his mind. A distraction would be good, but there was  
nothing he-

"N-Natsuya-senpai…"

"Oh… 'speak of the devil', they say", she said, looking past Shiro. "You made it this far, demon?"

How Mephisto even moved in that state was beyond Shiro. He clutched the chest of the hakama, staggering forward with the looks of a corpse  
fresh from the grave. Tar-black creeks of thick miasma oozed from his nose and eyes. He was in a lot of pain. And he was royally furious.

"I would expect you to", Natsuya continued, watching with a cold smile as he cringed with each rhythmic beat of the chant. "It wouldn't do to  
miss your own funeral."

Mephisto took the fist from his chest. He wasn't clutching the hakama: he was clutching… a tiny, delicate hourglass…?

"Fili Dei…" he rasped, murder burning in his eyes, "…miserete nobis…" He crushed the miniature in his hand.

The gargantuan hourglass shattered, showering the cavity and everyone in it with gleaming shrapnel; the flames clawed at the seal barrier,  
roaring and twisting like a wild beast behind bars. In the corner of his eye, Mephisto slumped down on hands and knees and vomited  
miasma. Before him, Natsuya toppled over, back pierced by hundreds and hundreds of translucent shards. And over the roar of the flames,  
the chant went on…

"That evens the odds a bit…" Shiro gritted his teeth and dragged himself up on his feet. As if he could complain about a cut in the leg, after  
Mephisto's performance…

The other Dragoon hadn't been lucky enough to have a human shield. She clutched a gash in her neck, aiming at him with an unsteady,  
bleeding hand.

"How could he do that?! He's supposed to be powerless, how could he do that?!"

"Oh, he always has a trick or two up his sleeve", Shiro said, forcing the agonized grimace into a smirk as he dragged himself closer. Let her  
think it had been planned, that would unsettle her…

"You _dog_…!" she hissed, missing him by less than a hand's breadth. "If you had even a sliver of honour as a human being, you would hack  
his head off!"

Another shot, one that almost grazed his arm. He didn't pay any mind, focused solely on completing what he'd set out to do. If he'd counted  
correctly, she only had two left…

"Then I don't have much honour."

"That's obvious enough!" she screamed, face livid and her hand trembling: he was right, she only had two bullets left. Question was, could he  
make her miss at this short a distance…? "Do you even know who that is?!"

"Yeah: Prince Mephistopheles, King of Foppishness."

She cracked a shrill, crazed laughter. Perfect… Shiro clenched his teeth and forced himself forward, readying to-

"Fully ensnared in the demon's lies! That's Prince Samael: _Crown Prince _Samael!" her voice pierced the chant and the thumping heartbeat in his  
ears. "Satan's eldest son!"

Shiro saw her lips move… he heard the sounds from her mouth… but his brain couldn't code the words into meaning. Samael. _That_ name was in  
his books. Shiro's head turned of its own accord.

"_He's Satan's…?_"

The bullet tore into his arm with the force of a hundred scorpion tails. Half blind from pain, half furious from it, he cut her throat in one sweep. And  
that was the last thing his left arm would do for him for many months to come.

"Nngh, damn…!"

It was pure, hammered-in reflex that made him clumsily sheathe his katana before staunching the blood: the kind of hardwired commando the  
mind has learnt to run on autopilot despite how ridiculous it is in the context. The part of his brain that made plans without his assistance also  
kicked in, and told him to prioritize. Seal first, patching later.

Seal? He looked from the madly clawing flames to the barely breathing demon. He wouldn't be able to house even a candle-flame in that condition.

"_Satan's son…_" Telling himself that the throbbing in his arm wasn't so bad, he bent down and picked up the gun with his right hand. One bullet.  
"_For whom…?_" a sardonic thought said curtly.

A little late to develop a conscience. A little late for most things, really. Time was slipping, and he didn't know what the hell to do… So Shiro left the  
lead to the part of him that seemed to know what it was doing, and focused all of his being on that thing alone; restraints discarded, ready to do  
whatever the situation required.

"Oi…" The Aria didn't move a muscle. The whispered chant was deafening in the silence. "_That's the kid… the freshman with the key… Susumu…_"  
Shiro dragged himself over to the smaller seal, already knowing his options. "I'm gonna tell you once, and only once." He put the gun to the guy's  
head. No missing at this distance. "Stop chanting." He met Shiro's eyes, completely calm. "_And a good little actor you are, too..._" Shiro cocked  
the hammer with a soulless click. "Or I'll shoot."

It's one thing to kill in the heat of battle, when you feel the frailty of your life hammering at your eardrums. It's another thing to look a defenceless  
kid in the eye and pull the trigger in cold blood. Susumu knew that, relied on it: told him so with his eyes.

What he didn't know was that Shiro Fujimoto was a man of his word. A man with the potential to accomplish anything, given the right motivation.  
Few people are that ruthless – few even believe people can be that ruthless. That's what makes them such easy marks for the ones who are.

Shiro pulled the trigger. The strange atmosphere of the pocket dimension swallowed the sound of the combustion, and the chant with it.

There. He'd hit the bottom. He was the lowliest a human being can be. But he was alive: and with the option in mind, he couldn't say he regretted  
the choice.

"_Never was a good person, was I…?_" he thought wryly. His hand was shaking; good. Then he wasn't a complete monster. He winced at the sound  
as the gun clattered to the floor.

There is silence, and there is silence. There is silence that is tense, like a glass vase balancing on the edge of a table, waiting to be broken: and  
there is silence that forbids such interruption, striking ears deaf with its unfelt weight. And there is the final silence; the silence of a breath that  
will never be followed by another.

That silence was broken by low, merry laughter, coated in nightmares.


	51. 51: Shahrokh 3

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

He had known for some time that Mephisto wore a mask before the human world. He had seen that mask slip. He knew what lay beneath it. And  
yet, as Samael rose where Mephisto had fallen, Shiro couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Like a deer frozen before the headlights of a speeding car,  
he watched the demon get to his feet, the teeth in his grin stark white against the black miasma, his eyes furnaces between madness and rapture.

"Some exorcist you are, Shiro-kun", the familiar voice said, in the familiar cadence that didn't belong to that person. "Killing humans to save  
a demon."

"Well…" Shiro felt something tug his lips that could have been a smile, but was more likely to be an unnerved grimace. "Not just any demon…"

A weak chortle escaped Samael's blackened lips. That's right; he was still sealed…

"Indeed, I wonder how they found out… but no matter… My name and title were never meant for human ears. In chess there is always sacrifices",  
he said with a smile Shiro had seen only once before: when he had captured the demon that possessed Yasuda.

He was going to…?

"_I should never have spiked his tea…_" Shiro's brain worked in ultra rapid on the entirely wrong track as the demon approached, katana gleaming  
in the shifting light. Well, of course: he was a liability, he knew things humans were never intended to know, but-

"Not gonna happen", he said coldly, drawing his own sword and placing the tip over the outer line of the binding seal. "Unless you wanna go poof  
in a more literal way, I suggest you back down."

"Go ahead: send me back to Gehenna", he sneered, not even slowing his pace. "I'll find a new host."

"I don't think you want to." If he survived this, he would consider a career in acting… "I happen to know that's not just any host you're wearing.  
You were quite fond of your old friend, weren't you? Fond enough to bind yourself to him for twenty-four years, and hold on to his body and his  
mother tongue almost five centuries after your contract expired. You'd hate to lose a memento like that." Blame it on nervousness, adrenaline,  
or crazy conviction that he was going to pull it off: Shiro smiled. "Wouldn't you, Johann Faustus?"

Whatever Samael had expected to hear, that wasn't it. Grimoires and history books had been carefully wiped clean of a demon presumably named  
Mephistopheles, save for a mention of an old folk tale in _De Praestigiis Daemonum et Incantationibus ac Venificiis._ And when Shiro had hunted down  
a copy of _Historia von Dr. Johann Faustus_, things had fallen in place.

He didn't know what he was doing, really. He only knew what he was going to do: sometimes, that's all you need. That, and a bloody good poker  
face to cover for your frantic heartbeat.

"How about striking a deal with me, your highness?" he continued, taking advantage of Samael's surprise. "I give you my silence: I will keep your  
secrets. For eternity. In return… In return, I ask you to give me your trust. For the same period of time."

Samael stared at him, at loss for words. Then his lips quirked, and he burst out laughing.

"_He's… still the same…_"

Samael laughed with his whole body, committing the heinous crime of resting the tip of the katana on the floor for support. He laughed like a  
madman, clutching his bony chest; laughed until bright tears marred the black smudges on his face.

"Ehehehahahaaa you have guts, Fujimoto Shiro! Truly…!" He was close enough to cut Shiro down where he stood, but made no move to do so.  
The green eyes scrutinized his face, reflecting the dancing light. "A deal thin as air, and solid as bedrock… kukukuku… only a reckless idiot like  
you would think to propose such a thing as friendship with someone like me."

Just like that first day in his office, Shiro's consciousness was hanging by a thread; suspended above his body like a balloon filled with fear and  
crazy hopes, floating on the absurdity of the situation.

"Yeah, well, you gotta admit: a reckless idiot is a lot more fun alive than dead."

"So true, so true~" Samael slid a clawed finger over the cut in Shiro's neck: Shiro couldn't have moved even if he wanted to. Moving the finger to  
his lips, the demon licked the blood off. "Deal."

"Yuck – wait, is that how you…?" He remembered Faustus signing his body and soul over in blood. "Was that…?"

The cocksure grin was back in place, even if he looked like he'd been dragged through seven hells.

"Just wondering what idiot tastes like~"

"…you're a jerk." And Shiro really should learn not to speak his mind…

"Coming from the same mouth as 'King of Foppishness'?" he remarked dryly, ears pulling down. "I take it your eternal silence comes part and  
parcel with your eternal impudence?"

"Sort of, yeah", Shiro smiled, barely able to stand as the weight of death left him. Holy crap, he couldn't believe it… "Now what? Shouldn't your  
heart, er, understand that it can calm down?"

"It would…" His eyes went from the shattered, glass-like substance on the floor to the flames that hissed at their shackles. "If it had been  
connected to me. So much for keeping it safe, it seems", he frowned. "It all boils down to that seal they crafted: can't access my powers  
through it, can't create a new container, can't deactivate…" His gaze landed on the exorcists' seal: Shiro self-consciously removed his katana  
from it. "And if we break it, my heart will disintegrate my host body instantaneously. I could return… but not fast enough to stave off the  
onslaught on the Academy."

"Wasn't it kinda stupid to break the container?" The words were past his lips before he knew he'd thought them. "I mean… You told me  
explicitly not to, and then you go and break it yourself?"

"In chess there is always gambles and sacrifices." The white flames reflected in his distant eyes. No, not flames. Shiro didn't know what it was,  
but… he got the sudden, crazy idea that it was liquid light and darkness, devouring each other ceaselessly… "It is troublesome indeed, however.  
I need an intermediate container, somewhere to store my heart where I can access it while I create a new one…" Samael pinched the acupressure  
points on each side of the nose. "To find a vessel strong enough took centuries the last time…"

"I'll be your vessel." As usual, stupid things leapt out of Shiro's mouth without asking his brain. A sign as good as any that he was fine, really.  
Apart from the fact that his arm and leg hurt infernally. "I've handled possession before."

Samael glanced down at him. Isn't it odd how every centimeter such a glance travels downwards multiplies derision by ten…?

"Do you realize who I am?"

"I just found out: you're Samael, Satan's eldest son."

It was that simple, really… same person, different name…

"You really have no sense of drama, Shiro. I am the King of Time, eldest in Gehenna's royal family, outranked only by Satan himself; a demigod  
by definition." Good to hear his ego hadn't suffered any damage… "You're human; a puny little bag of meat and bones with a thousand ways to  
die. Your body is as useless as this one for containing my heart."

"Not the best outlook, but it's not like you have a choice, is it?" Shiro gestured at the seal and the flames with his good arm. "Either you stay in  
Assiah, powerless, or return to Gehenna and watch the Academy and your favors with the Vatican go up in smoke. Or you let me help you fix  
your container. What's it gonna be?"

The demon eyed him with a curious look. Not that Shiro was surprised: he sounded three-ways-crazy at the very least, but… he had a plan.  
Somewhere. He just didn't quite know it himself yet.

"If you wanted to die, it would have been much quicker and cleaner to let me do the honors."

It was grotesque, how easily he said it. And meant it. Meant every word of what he said…

"Don't doubt that, but I don't hear any other alternative from you", he observed, carefully forgetting how bloody much his leg and arm hurt. "Meanwhile,  
there's no barrier shielding the students, no keys to evacuate them to safety, no other way for you to get your powers back." Ugh, this would sound so  
damn cheesy… "Look, I'm not one to play hero, okay? It's shitty work, but it's work that has to be done, and I don't see anyone else around who can.  
There's only one way to go and you know it. So what's it gonna be, Samael? Are you gonna trust me?"

The demon glared at him. Calculated. Calculated again. He didn't look as though he liked the outcome.

"…a gamble it is, then", he concluded. "Worst one I ever made. Only one formality to take care of first…" He bit his thumb and muttered something  
over the blood that welled up.

"Cursing me?" Shiro wondered, eyebrows rising.

"Blessing you", he sneered wryly. "Of sorts. My name and fatal verses are not things some high school students can figure out on their own. However,  
I shall have to track down the mastermind behind this without your assistance, as you seem hell-bent on dying without fulfilling your end of the  
deal." He whipped out the lacey handkerchief and pressed against a wound that wouldn't heal over without demonic powers. "Fool's luck, the purest  
form of it", he snorted. "I never disband a contract; it is unbecoming someone of my position. But you – you reckless, foul-mouthed, air-headed  
idiot –, your soul I will not claim." He rewarded Shiro a dry, condescending glance. "Though I doubt it will find a place in heaven anyway."

Shiro could but stare at Samael. Oh, let him rattle off his derogatory tirades: no words could conceal what he was really saying – and even so, no  
words could fully express what it took for Gehenna's Crown Prince to release a soul.

For the first time in his life, there was no cheeky response ready to leap out before he could think. Only a crooked grin.

"I suppose smiling in the face of death confirms it: you _are _mad. Any last words before you commit suicide…?"

Shiro circled the raging pillar slowly. As funeral pyres go, that was a pretty spectacular one. The limping lachrymose of his echoing steps drowned  
in the rapid fluttering of a heart that didn't want to die just yet. He could die, he knew that very well. It wouldn't be a pretty death, either. Quick,  
if he was lucky. Why was he doing this again…? For the school? For the students? For his own stupid ego?

Or was it something as simple as helping a friend out…?

Tch, wouldn't help him by dying… Yet somewhere within, vague as a whisper between waking and sleeping, Shiro knew he wouldn't die. It could be  
vain hope, blind faith, or common denial; he felt a deep, solid conviction that the flames of hell wouldn't devour him. Heh. Thinking really didn't go  
well in Shiro-kun.

"No goodbyes", he murmured, a shaky grin quirking his lips. Before he could formulate second thoughts, he gritted the sword's tip over the lines.

It wasn't black, but it wasn't white either. And it wasn't coaxing him to surrender control: it wrought it from him, crawled in under his skin, licked  
the insides of his lungs and tore his senses out of his body.

The pain in his arm disappeared, the fatigue disappeared: everything… disappeared… Like autumn leaves blowing off a tree, he disappeared, bit  
by bit… so relaxing, like going to sleep after a long, tiring day… making the world he knew seem like nothing but a dream...

"_Ngah…!_" Something floundered in the evaporating nothingness; a thought, a half-forgotten fragment of something that had been important… "_I…  
I'm… Fujimoto… Shiro…_" And that thing inside him was _not _Fujimoto Shiro.

He grasped through the thickening numbness, reached for his scattered pieces. And the more he reached out, the more he struggled to hold his  
self together, the more fierce became the force that was breaking him apart.

"_Part of me, not… controlling me…!_" He gritted his teeth, forced himself to remain awake and aware. There was no fighting this back: only holding  
on for dear life to what consciousness he retained and hope that he could buy enough time. "_Gah, Mephisto…_" His mind jerked and twisted to  
escape the intruder, slipping out of his grasp, striving toward that state of bliss oblivion where it encapsulated itself in coma and hid from a power  
it couldn't withstand. A power that would consume and kill him. "_…arrogant twat…_" Mephisto, Samael – whatever his name was, he was still the  
same stupid, annoying clown. Same cocky, swaggering prankster he had so much in common with… "_You're not… winning…_" he snarled, tying his  
self together around that thought, "_no matter who your dad is…_"

He felt the floor under his hands. Shiro anchored his consciousness to that point, focusing all of his being on the hard surface and the splitter that  
was his sole link to the world, and to a body that was fatigued and hurting and struggling.

"_Like hell I'll die losing to a guy who wears a pantyhose…!_"

Lifting the world on his eyelids, Shiro squinted at the demon through the flickering light; and the last shreds of the illusion Mephisto Pheles were  
burnt away. That was Prince Samael: a demigod, a King of Gehenna crowned in flames.

"Oh my…" His smile stretched languidly like a cat in the sun, basking beneath eyes that burned blue, not green. He raised a clawed hand tipped  
with candle-flames of white. "I had almost forgotten… what my birthright feels like…"

"Oi, would you hurry up a little! Your birthright's tearing me to pieces!"

The blue gaze fell on him, and Shiro felt his body and consciousness slip from him again. _That _was his real self…?

"Hurry…?" the creature that had been Mephisto put middle finger and thumb together. "I have all the time in the world~"

*snap*

The next thing Shiro was aware of was something being torn out of him. His mind fell back into his body in a hundred jumbled pieces; his body  
drowned out from his senses, and his head filled with thick, painfully throbbing cotton wad. Distantly, he felt a smooth, gloved hand cup his face,  
turning it gently back and forth.

"Knock it off…"

Never mind gently: Shiro didn't want to move, or be moved, ever again.

"Conscious, even? Looks like there's more to you than just a big mouth…" Samael snapped his fingers, and something that felt like paper tissue dabbed  
at his upper lip and chin. "How are you feeling?"

What an absolutely ridiculous question! But it hurt too much to laugh…

"Like hell. No offence", he confessed faintly.

"Not even close to the real deal, believe me", he chuckled, lifting him from the floor.

He should've protested. He didn't want to be carried like a girl; deep down he didn't. But everything was muddling together so quickly, and he  
couldn't find his mouth…

With a muffled bang they were somewhere else, and Shiro felt his limp body touch down on the soft, sleek surface of Me- Samael's gaudy  
bedcovers.

"I have a lot of work to do, so if you'd be so kind and stay put this time~?"

"Not goin' anywhere", he mumbled with a crooked smile.

Shiro faded into slumber heavier than unconsciousness, and he was never really sure if he heard a "thank you" or not.


	52. 52: An end, a beginning

**A/N: Please, read the footnotes… they're unusually important this time...**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Everything ached. Literally everything. Few people get to experience having a sore heel, or a sore left nostril, but Shiro had the benefit of getting  
the whole package at once. It felt marvellous. Marvellous in the neutral sense that an experience is spectacular, and not necessarily in a good way.

Shiro rolled over to get up, only to find his plans thwarted by a resounding _b'tong _right in his forehead.

"Ouch, ow, dammit…!" His voice automatically dropped to a whisper on the last syllables, as he realized he hadn't bumped his head on the bed table,  
but on another head. "_Guy's got a skull made of stone_", he thought as he rubbed his forehead, glaring at the face half buried in the huge,  
heart-shaped pillow. "_And he's still sleeping!_"

Nobody will admit it, but everyone who has had the opportunity to study a sleeping person has taken great interest in doing so. While _everybody  
looks like angels when they are asleep_ is a bit overly euphemistic, it's not entirely untrue. Mephis- _Samael_ was barely recognizable when he slept.  
Without his ubiquitous smile, without that look in his eyes that could piss off the blind, he looked… serene. Not like a demon at all. And twenty  
years younger.

The pink yukata piled loosely over a body that was little more than a collection of twigs arranged like a sleeping person. He _had _seemed thin  
when he supported him, but seriously… he really should stop drinking that tea…

Shiro couldn't help it: a wide grin tugged his lips. The demon had curled up in his sleep and hugged a huge, blue unicorn-plushie close to his  
chest. How's that for a son of Satan…? Weird as it was, it brought to mind Agari's words from long ago: cute.

And now Agari was dead. The saboteurs were dead, his contract was disbanded, and he was free to leave True Cross Academy. No life-and-death  
battles against demons, no bantering with a principal from hell, no fighting back-to-back with classmates that were anything from hot-tempered  
pilgrims to lesbian half-demons.

The human mind can adapt to almost any conditions, bad as well as good: and sometimes, it doesn't want to re-adapt.

"_I'm going to be an exorcist_." The corner of Shiro's lips yanked into an incredulous smile. "_I'm going to be a freakin' awesome exorcist._"

At some point in his voyeuristic explorations, Shiro realized that Me- that Samael was curled up because he had hogged all the bedcovers to  
himself. Deciding he was getting up anyway and might as well, he awkwardly spread the covers over the principal. It _was _awkward to wake up  
next to another man; even more so when you knew the "man" was Satan's son.

Shiro sat down on his haunches beside the bed and squinted at him one extra time, still not really believing it. Satan's son? Eldest son? A  
sweet-toothed mecha freak that slept with a stuffed unicorn…? What on earth was he doing in the Vatican?

"Who's a pervert now, Shiro?" The drooping eyes opened a sliver.

"Go back to sleep."

"So you can continue whatever you were up to~? Tsk tsk, such a-"

Shiro grabbed the unicorn and pushed it over Samael's head.

"You're much better when you're quiet, you dirty-minded demon."

"Mud-monkey! You uncivilized, rude little coal tar! Is this any way to treat royalty?!"

He freed himself of the plushie, sat up and glared daggers at Shiro.

"You're not royalty in Assiah", Shiro smirked, taking in the lovely picture before him. "And you might wanna check a mirror before you go calling  
other people uncivilized."

Samael glanced sideways at the bedroom mirror. Oh, his face… Almost worth dying for.

"Point taken", he grumbled, massaging his tired eyelids. The ridiculously coloured hair stood in all directions, making him look decidedly un-royal.  
"How I'd like to take this day off…" he sighed and poofed a Unico comb into his hand. "Alas, no rest for the wicked."

"Speaking of nothing." Shiro held up his hands before him. "I suppose it's thanks to you I'm un-shot?"

"That was a most unexpected side effect", he said, carefully combing his two-coloured haystack smooth. "I didn't possess you, technically; only  
stored all my power in you." An ironic smile touched his lips. "But as I regenerated myself, you seem to have hijacked part of my magic and were  
healed as well." He cocked a thin eyebrow. "Otherwise I would never have put you in my bed."

"How very like you, letting injured people sleep on the floor… So…" Where to begin? What to ask? "This whole thing, just what-"

There were two rapid knocks on the door; Belial entered without waiting for response.

"Pardon my manners, master, but I heard your highness were awake." He sounded rushed, but even so took his time to bow in that exquisitely  
proper manner specific to butlers. "Vatican representatives arrived just now. I am informed they are quite impatient and are headed for your  
highness' mansion as I speak." He paused. "It would be very detrimental if they discovered your highness'… guest."

Shiro heard the implication and felt heat shooting through his cheeks.

"So soon? I wager Beaumonde is among them~" An amused smile tugged the corners of Meph- Samael's lips. "Keep my guest out of the way,  
Belial. On second thought: keep him busy, lest he decides to poke his nose where it doesn't belong again. Breakfast and a hot bath should take  
care of that."

"As you wish, master." The butler bowed again, and fixed his reptile-eyed gaze on Shiro. "This way, young man."

Shiro followed Belial to the kitchen in the servants' quarters, and the virtual host of demons that worked there. Maids, servants, that little purple

monkey with a chef hat… Samael may not be royalty in Assiah, but he did have his own court.

"Which would you like first, young man?" Belial asked, turning his head ever so slightly to glance at him. "A bath, or breakfast?"

"Er… a bath?" Ugh, the formality…

"I shall escort you then. Sébastien?" A manservant, whose black hair was roughly the same style as Me- as Samael's, halted. "You have fairly the  
same build as his highness' guest. Fetch one of your spare uniforms and leave it by the bathroom in the eastern wing, third floor."

"Yes, my lord."

Sébastien hurried off to deliver the platter of jam tarts, but nobody paid him any notice. They were all looking at Shiro, as if he were some curious  
wild animal that had found its way into the kitchen. What, they weren't used to human guests…? Or was it because they had the same idea Belial had?

"I'm not… his _guest _in that sense", he tried, stalking after the straight-backed butler as they made their way for the bathroom on the third floor.

"We weren't…"

"Of course not. I know my master's tastes: a boy like you is not on his highness' menu", the butler assured in a schooled voice.

Really? _Really? _So Mephi- Samael _had _been making fun of him all this time? There was no hidden meaning in what he said? Relief, as of heavenly  
absolution, flooded Shiro.

"You made it sound like I was", he said, trying not to let show how thankful he was.

"That was not my intention: I merely did not know how to address you. You are, as previously said, not the kind of person I would expect to find  
in his highness' bedchamber. …what _is _your relation to his highness?" he inquired. Oh yes, all demons are curious…

A smile tugged the corner of Shiro's mouth.

"I'm his friend."

**A/N: And thus, arc 1 comes to a close. And before you start screaming at me, read again what Belial ****_really _****says:**

"A boy like you is not on his highness' menu."

**And now consider what else has been said:**

"I like a man who plays it rough~ Pity you're just a boy."

"Not bad~ Allow a few years to ripen that body and the ladies will be all over you."

**Do remember, Shiro hasn't even turned 19 (you're considered an adult at 20). He still has growing to do, both mentally and physically.  
And Samael, well… he has allthe time in the world. ;P Let poor Shiro relax, he's earned it. This doesn't mean teasing will cease in any  
way: but it does mean that Shiro will let his guard down, kukukuku… Also, do note how puzzled Belial is over Shiro: not the kind of  
toy his master uses and discards, but something different; something… ****_lasting_****.**

**Now that things have settled down… I shall pester you with all the footnotes from ch 49 and onwards. *watches readers run off and  
disappear behind the horizon* x'3 I do implore you to stay and read, though. If you truly are a fan of Ao no Exorcist, there are  
things in here that may or may not blow your mind. ;P I do try to write something that follows canon, yes? And canon gives  
these small, barely visible hints, dropped more or less every time a certain Fujimoto Shiro makes an appearance…**

This is the only footnote you will ever see that is longer than the actual chapter, and divided into chapters of its own…

**The apocrypha: **All demons have fatal verses, right? But Samael wouldn't leave something like that for people to find. He could very well have  
been around at the time the great scriptures were written, and, if he were, I'm sure he would try to destroy the manuscripts. He probably thought  
he did. Not until the 1940-1950's were the Dead Sea Scrolls found hidden in a remote cave in the West Bank: some of them are older, different  
copies of existing Christian or Hebrew scripts, some of them are forgeries, and some of them are entirely unknown works from over two thousand  
years ago. The theory, as far as I know, is that they were hidden when their keepers fled pursuit of some sort. Pursued by somebody who wanted  
to secure his immortality…?

**The hourglass: **Well, he is the King of Time… The credit for the pyramid shape goes to my colourful clientele of weird friends, though. Ask anybody  
with at least half a foot in the UFO/new age/spiritualism/general off-the-grid thinking and they will tell you that if you're going to concentrate,  
channel, or augment energy, then the pyramid is what you're looking for. Nobody (= even non-weird people) will deny that energy is dependent  
on geometrical structures: that goes down to the atomic level. So if the ability for a substance to remain stable, conduct electricity, or radiate  
energy is dependent on the structure of the atoms; is it so far-fetched to think that a pyramid could have the potential to affect energy built into  
its geometrical structure (which corresponds to the structure of many chemical substances)? Well, I dunno. It's interesting to speculate. Good  
enough for fanfiction, at any rate. =P

**The heart: **Wasn't called a heart in my original rendition, but the principle was the same, source of power/weakness and all that, so a quick run  
with Ctrl+F and replace Word A with Word B did the job. Samael claimed he hid his heart in canon, too, so… what says he hides it in his body?  
Since he's Gehenna's second most powerful, I figure his only competition is Satan. And with Satan unable to enter Assiah, why would he ever  
need to access full power there? Better to tuck the heart away safely where it can't be threatened from Gehenna _or _Assiah…

It was this that I had in mind when I wrote the part about immortality (just making sure we're on equal footing here). If you can't hit their  
weak spot, they don't die. If their weak spot is in a different dimension – how are you ever gonna hit it?

I wasn't sure about the shape of his heart, and if we ever get to see it in the manga I'll go back and change. As it is, I tried to come up with  
something that made at least a little sense. The definition of time is change. Time births change, and change creates time. So I figure his heart  
would be constantly shifting, at least in "activated form". Ends and beginnings, births and deaths, black and white: cyclic and linear, repetition  
and innovation. An entity of dual nature, a servant of God who tempts men to do the deeds of the Devil: that is the traditional view of Samael,  
the one between good and evil.

**Fili Dei miserete nobis: **Thank you, **wildkurofang**, for pointing me to the emblem in volume 4. And thank you, Krister, for patiently teaching us  
the grammar even though my classmates were less-than-attentive during Latin lessons.

Below Mephisto's emblem is a banner with a microscopic motto, but I think I deciphered it correctly when I read it as _Fili Dei miserete nobis_. There is  
a line in the Angelic Hymn, one of the most ancient and important psalms in the Roman-Catholic church (we're talking 4th Century A.D. here), that  
reads _Filius Patris /-/ miserere nobis_ that is the closest existing reference one can find. It means "Son of the Father, have mercy on us". Mephisto's  
motto, however, is likely not a reference. It's not a straight quote, for one thing. And it's grammatically correct: with all the pseudo-Latin going  
around these days, someone who manages to get it right is someone who has put some serious thought behind.  
_  
Fili Dei miserete nobis_ has three possible translations in the AnE context, as I see it:  
#1 Sons of God, have mercy on us (if you believe it would be a paraphrase of the Angelic Hymn)  
#2 Sons of God, pity us (but this is more interesting, imo)  
#3 Sons of God, lament us (and this could get REALLY interesting)

Oh, the multitude of interpretations… x') For one, who exactly is "us"? Demons? Humans? "Us" as in the royal way of referring to oneself in third  
person…? I don't know enough to make a qualified guess. x') It could be ironic blasphemy or it could be ominous prophecy. But doesn't it put a  
grin on your face, to think that Mephisto/Samael is up to something so devilish that not only Jesus Christ will pity/lament "us", but all the angels in  
heaven…?

**Johann Faustus: **Yes, I think so. I don't believe we'll ever see that confirmed, but I do think so. Samael's name might not be Mephistopheles, but  
he could still have been the Mephistopheles of legend; many of the other aliases he's used have become famous, after all. Supporting that theory  
would be that Samael chose to add the fake name Johann Faust to his _already_ faked name – and keep it long enough to come down to Johann  
Faust V. Plus his penchant for all things German… I think he liked Faust, one way or the other. Did you know? In the 1587 manuscript of _Historia  
von Dr Johann Faustus_, it says black on white that Mephistopheles took the shape of a woman and seduced Faust on several occasions. Probably  
a moralization-campaign on the church's behalf, but I smiled when I read it. Maybe Mephisto liked him… or just liked to play pranks on him…

_Historia von Dr Johann Faustus _(1587) also contains this line: "_I do promise him in return that, when I be fully sated of that which I desire of him,_  
_twenty-four years also being past, ended and expired, he may at such a time and in whatever manner or wise pleaseth him order, ordain, reign,_  
_rule and possess all that may be mine: body, property, flesh, blood, etc., herewith duly bound over in eternity and surrendered by covenant in mine_  
_own hand by authority and power of these presents, as well as of my mind, brain, intent, blood and will._" I don't expect you to remember, but I  
did have Mephisto say in ch 19 that the body he possesses is his by right: he'd bought it as part of the deal he made with its former owner. =P

Heh, the 1587 manuscript also says that Faustus' body was bashed to a bloody bag of broken bones when the contract expired: but if he was that  
badly beaten, I shall twiddle my thumbs and pretend that the corpse people found was in too poor condition for identification, and that it was  
merely some errand boy or other unfortunate soul that bit the dust…

**A reckless idiot like you: **I didn't make this connection until it had already been written, but… Shiro isn't that far from Johann Faust (Göthe's),  
actually. For those of you who haven't read this masterpiece, Mephistopheles follows Faust home in the shape of a black dog. As you might remember,  
if you read the footnotes on ch 40, he couldn't get out again because of the pentagram drawn over Faust's threshold. And when he asks permission  
to leave, Faust denies him that with the words (and this isn't the translation I prefer, but I haven't got my own copy of the one I want): "Who traps  
the Devil, hold him fast! Not soon a second time he'll catch a prey so precious."

That's pretty bold for a human to say to the Devil's face. And Shiro's negotiations in the pocket dimension…? Pretty bold, too. Might that be the kind  
of human Samael finds to his taste? I'd like to think so, at least… x')

**The possession: **There was one line, uttered by Yukio early on in the manga, that stuck in my head and never rattled out: "Father Fujimoto was  
the only person in this world Satan could possess." I know translations differ, so here's an online version: "Father was the only man in the world  
thought to be able to sustain possession by Satan himself…"

The question remains in both cases: why did people think this? How do you establish something like that? Call Satan over for a test-run...? Well,  
this was my solution to the problem: I think that Shiro had been possessed before, by a demon whose powers are almost equal to Satan's own,  
and survived. That would allow for such a theory. And the demon in question would have to be the one second in Gehenna's hierarchy, no…? ;P

**Unico: **A cute little unicorn from an Osamu Tezuka manga from 1976. He's blue, with pink mane and little cinnamon bun-curled ears, and Mephisto  
loves him deeply~ Actually, this one is an anachronism: Unico didn't appear until November that year, but I couldn't resist this…


	53. 53: Merry Christmas from Dimwit

**A/N: God Jul! Merry Christmas! (In Sweden, it's the 24th that counts...)**

And here's arc 2 of The End of the Beginning!

...let's face it: I was going to publish arc 2 anyway. The real Christmas gift is _**Between the End and the Beginning**_: a separate document for the extra  
material that pops up in my head now and then, never makes it into the fic, but is quite funny on its own.

**Thanks for staying with me, yeah? \^w^/ *big hugs to all of you~!***

* * *

So, since this already was a dump for author notes, I'll use it to keep some sort of tables for the fic (maybe more for my own sake than for yours... ^_^' ).

**Arc 1:** **Terra, 52 chapters **(_Shiro age 18_)  
humour/mystery/friendship/suspense/supernatural**  
**- The story of how Shiro and Mephisto became friends in the first place.

**Arc 2: Inferno, +100 chapters **(_Shiro age ~19-24_)  
humour/angst/tragedy/hurt/friendship/romance/myste ry/supernatural/poetry  
- The story of how Shiro grew up to become the Shiro we've seen in flashbacks in the manga, and some more in-depth guesses at Mephisto's past  
aliases, powers, and motives. Also, lots of playing around with historical events and facts. =P

**Arc 3: Purgatorio, ~50 chapters **(_Shiro age ~24-35_)  
humour/angst/friendship/romance/supernatural/myste ry  
- The story connects to canon properly (yay!), with all the lovely things that entails. This is perhaps the part that focuses more than any other on  
Shiro's relationship with Mephisto (and Mephisto's relationship with Shiro, most importantly). Here's where you'll meet Amaimon in person, and  
you will get the core of my guesses around Samael's background and intentions; and unless Kato has already torn down the veil of lies and revealed  
Mephisto's scheme, it will be my honour to do it in her stead. (I sound disgustingly pretentious, but it's a scheme that just has me bouncing up  
and down with excitement and I simply can't contain myself: Kato is too good!)

**Arc 4: Paradiso, ~40 chapters **(_Shiro age 35-death_)  
humour/family/friendship/angst/drama/supernatural/ romance/tragedy  
- The story of Shiro as Paladin, adoptive father, mentor, teacher at TCA, and old friend of Prince Samael.

**+ 1 special chapter**

*looks up at those estimations* You should definitely not trust my skill at calculations, especially not with the two last arcs that I've barely started  
looking at. This could easily soar up to 300 chapters all told: it took me 52 chapters to cover the first 9 months... 0_o


	54. 54: Aftermath

**A/N: I do not own or profit in any way of what Kazue Kato has created.**

It wasn't easy to transit from one dimension to another. To re-enter the world where he had been born, a world that seemed to push him away like  
a lioness rejecting a cub that smells different.

It wasn't easy to pretend he didn't see the look of concern in Midori's eyes, didn't hear the unspoken question on her lips. He was sure he smelt different  
to her, too.

It wasn't easy to watch Shizuku rock Ryuuji gently back and forth in his arms when word reached them that Agari had been among the casualties. To  
sit amidst the heart-twisting sobs and try to force an empty word of comfort over his lips, while Agari's dying moments still were fresh in his mind's eye.

It wasn't easy to admit that he would never feel entirely human around humans again.


	55. 55: Don't know you

**A/N: I do not own or profit in any way from what Kazue Kato has created.**

He hated the lies, hated how they clung to his skin like filth he couldn't wash off. He felt like tearing the truth right out of his chest and show the  
assembled students from his own memories what the six casualties had _really_ been like, how they _really _had died… because pretending to mourn…  
pretending that their deaths were tragic accidents…

Shiro attended the ceremony in the great assembly hall of the Academy and felt that soon, very soon, lightning must strike through the roof and  
vaporize him. Teachers gave speeches, and each word grated on his nerves like knives on porcelain. Paragon students, responsible adolescents, respected  
by their classmates, bright futures and promising careers – _bull, shit_. So much bullshit he was sure the microphone down at the stand must be covered  
in brown muck.

The susurrus hymn of weeping students floated through his consciousness like noxious mist and made him chew the butt of his cigarette to mush.  
Plenty of tears for paragon assassins and promising murderers – wonder how many would be dead if they weren't? How many would have survived if  
Mephisto hadn't raised the barriers and driven the invading demons out?

Mephisto… Samael… tch, what did names matter, anyway? He'd been the same guy all along. He had done good things… regardless what his true  
intentions were…

And Shiro had made his choice. A good choice or a bad one…? He didn't know. He did absolutely not know, and every time he tried to sort it out his  
thoughts tangled until his head ached. On one hand: for over a century, Samael had been nothing but an asset to the Order. He had saved the school,  
helped expand the Order's influence... on the other hand:

"_He's Satan's son._" Shiro let the thought sink into his consciousness and felt the sharp edges scratch and prod his doubts. "_Why would such a big fish  
join True Cross?_" There was a hidden agenda; there had to be. There was no way Satan's son could harbour any honest desire to help huma- "_Oh, listen  
to yourself, you sanctimonious ass!_" Shiro had very few fundamental beliefs he lived by, but those he had he held onto firmly. One such belief was  
that you create your own path in life. "_That you have a crap dad doesn't mean you're crap, too_", he reminded himself. Judge a tree by the fruit it bears,  
and so on. Samael might be Satan's son, but that didn't mean he took after his father.

At least, Shiro hoped he didn't.

* * *

Fresh air, at last! Bright sunshine greeted the sobbing crowd that milled out of the hall, caring only to warm the singing birds and coax the next round

of flowers out of their buds, now that the cherry blossomed mostly on the ground. Shiro had to take care not to look too relieved as he diverted from  
the throng, picking his way towards a small staircase and a bridge that-

"Hey, where ye goin'? Sayin' farewell is this way, ye know."

Circumstances softened Shizuku's tone, yet it cut through Shiro like a banshee screech. Right. Saying farewell and paying respects… He halted his  
steps and turned around.

"Sorry man, I just can't", he said, running a hand through his hair out of habit. "I know we were in the same class and all, but… I just can't."

There are some things you just don't do. He had no right to go there. He had no right mourn Agari, or any of the others, and he'd had it up to what  
he could take of pretending to do so. But Shizuku didn't know that.

"Shiro-san. I know you two didn't get along, but fe' Chrissake, she's _dead_", he said sharply. "And yer putting ye' grudges on hold te go an' pay her ye'  
final respects, or I'll fuckin' kick ye there, ye hear me?"

"Agari-chan wouldn't have wanted me to pay her respects", he returned, feeling a tightness grasp his chest that was cold and hot all at once.

"Midori-chan is going." Shizuku's voice was hard and unforgiving like a block of granite as it drove the final nail into the coffin. "And if _she _can let bygones  
be bygones, ye don't have any fuckin' right in the world te bail."

This situation shouldn't exist… Cornered in a dead end like this, caught between the secret behind his back and Shizuku's unwavering sense of right  
and wrong, Shiro saw no way for time to keep ticking. If anything, it should rewind and restart on another track. One that didn't lead here.

Should he attend, should he bail, should he…? What the hell should he do…?

"_I can't go there – what the hell would that make me? A murderer with a conscience? Or just a sick fuck attending his victims' funeral?_" His lips parted  
slightly, and he felt himself sink into that cold, detached state that had been his last farewell to Agari. "Shizu-san… I can't."

*whack*

Shizuku wasn't a seasoned fighter, and didn't know where to place a punch to deal maximum damage; but the feeling he put behind it compensated  
for all that.

"I don't know what the hell's wrong with you", Shizuku grated, his clenched fist trembling from pain and anger. "But _this_…? Are ye even human?"

He turned sharply and stalked away, following the stream of students headed to the courtyard where the caskets were held for farewells before being  
taken to the crematory.

Shiro watched him go and tasted the tang of warm blood in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his teeth to check that they were all there. At least  
Shizuku hadn't gone for the glasses…

"…I'm sorry", he murmured to the warm spring breeze.

* * *

He walked that whole day, and burnt almost a whole packet of cigarettes in the process. Oh, he was well aware that he was hiding: still, he couldn't

bring himself to go back to the Academy area. It's funny, how it's not the dead that haunt you, but the living: and how the shadow of the past is so  
much easier to bear than the shadow falling on you from the future.

He went to the night market while it was still just late afternoon. The air was high, swallows wheeled back and forth with exultant cries, and the  
season's warmth shone from bright eyes and colourful clothes. The vendors were busy, the smell of food tantalizing, and everything was buzzing  
with spring.

Bad move, he realized. All that merriment, all that optimistic laughter… it's only in the contrast with bright light you notice how dark the shadows are.

"_What's the matter?_" he questioned himself silently. The water carried animated voices over its comfortable distance to where he stood, slouching  
with his lower arms on the railing of the bridge across the pond. Ducks swam over to the ashes falling off his cigarette into the water – probably  
thought it was breadcrumbs. Stupid animals. "_Who's stupid, really? I should just go back there and say I didn't feel well at the ceremony, or some  
such crap._"

Oh, but it would still be there: the shadow, the unspoken pressure, as if the dead still walked the dorm corridors. It didn't matter what excuse he  
made up, it was still there: the mask of mourning, waiting to suffocate him.

And something else. He hadn't noticed it before, busy as he was with everything going on outside his head, but now that he had time to poke around  
there was something there, too. Something within: mere coals of the fire, but still glowing and hot. Still there, days after Agari and the other five had  
died, was that faint burning…

"_Is that what they call shock?_" he pondered, tapping ashes off in the water. His eyes lingered on the red butt of the cigarette. Yes; something like that,  
nested inside his chest… "_Or that post-trauma-something? Maybe I should see someone about this…_"

And say what, exactly? That he'd killed six of the school's students? Wouldn't that go down well... Still, he knew that burning feeling, and he shouldn't be  
feeling it now. And not this faint. That bitter, snarling anger had never been faint. And he didn't feel angry: he felt… like the clean snap of the slide clicking  
in place over a bullet fed into the barrel. Cocked and loaded and ready to go off if those glowing coals suddenly-

The ducks quarrelled noisily over the lost cigarette. He could hear them, but the demon had already taken his vision and was cutting him off from his  
ears as well; his mother's soulless, empty laughter trickled up through the darkness, and the world became his family's dinner table-

"_No you don't._" He seized his mother's memory by the throat, glared through her eyes and into the demon's. "_Not with me, and not today, you little shit._"

Yes, he felt the darkness – felt it flare like a match lit over fire, in fact. Felt it intimately, like morning mist coating skin and crawling into his lungs;  
felt it around and inside, part of him as he was part of it. His darkness, his to command.

His mother melted from his eyes and slipped his fingers, and he was on the bridge again. The ducks had fled the ruckus, but he could still smell them.  
His ears twitched as the augmented sounds of people reached them over the water with jigsaw conversations about clothes, birthdays, and the boy  
next door being noisy on weekends.

"_I'm… a demon…?_" He stared at his claws: a tar-black, dimly glimmering variety – looked just like the wooden handrail, which was reduced to  
smoking coal under his other hand. "Ngh-!" His vision was swallowed into darkness again: fierce, indignant darkness that was in no way amused by  
this turn of events.

He had no idea how he knew that, but it made him laugh all the same.

"_I'll amuse you alright_", he challenged with a sneer, feeling a rush of wolfish excitement that seemed… inappropriate.

Inappropriate, because he enjoyed it. The fight was even, and he was worn down to his bones, but the feeling of battling that demon soul to soul brought  
something to his lips that could have been called a smile if it hadn't had fangs. It was… relieving, in a way; to have a problem he could deal with  
hands-on, rather than the thorny dead end he'd faced with-

Shizuku?

Shiro veered very close to losing control over himself, but kept a firm grasp on his darkness and on the hip flask he'd just uncorked.

"Hi. Just gimme a minute", he told the shell-shocked pilgrim on the bridge, and put the flask to his lips. Bracing himself, he gulped liquid fire until he fell  
down on all fours and vomited: vomited a thick, oily cloud of miasma that disappeared into the shadows of the trees.

"_Oh man, I feel crap…_" Like riding Go To Hell backwards with a fever and a panicked horse…

"Holy Buddha, Shiro-san – ye okay?" Shizuku rushed over from the bridge and helped him to his feet.

"Fine, just fine…" He dusted himself off as best he could, but stopped. "Okay, that must sound completely ridiculous, but honestly… I think I'm fine."

"Ye think?" The look on Shizuku's face spoke clearly what he thought of that. "I just heard a possessed man say 'just gimme a minute' and exorcise  
'imself like it's nothin'. How's that even possible?"

"Sen-chan told me how she controls her goblin", he replied, hanging on to the topic rather than ask why Shizuku had gone looking for him. "If you  
acknowledge the darkness you have in your heart, and learn to be the master of it, then you can master any demon that tries to feed off it. That's it,  
really."

"And did ye know one fifth o' the Futotsuki children that go through that rite o' passage end up dead?" the pilgrim said dryly, eyeing him up and  
down with a concerned look. "That's dangerous stuff, man. It's meant for bonding _once_, with _one _demon, an' not one that possesses _you_. Ye should  
wear the pendant instead."

Oh, right: that…

"I do – I just take it off to bathe, and I forgot it back in the dorm room."

Lie. The pendant lay on the pedestal of one of the lanterns in the Ceremonial Hall, where he always left it when he was sparring with Samael. He hadn't  
gone back there since. Hadn't gone to see Samael, either…

"…ye know, lying is a really bad habit o' yours", Shizuku said, brown eyes nailing him in place where he stood. "An' yer gonna drop it right now, 'cause  
we need te talk. I didn't come t'apologize. There's a saying that goes 'neva' let the sun set on an argument', an' I don't intend fe' that te happen."  
Shizuku shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other: he didn't like having to deal with this, but was determined  
to do so anyway. "I figure ye got yer issues. Bad ones", he added, throwing a glance at a severely singed park bench. "But if I knew what's eatin' ye,  
maybe we could sort this out. So what's wrong? An' don't tell me 'nothing'. That look in yer eyes earlier teday? It fuckin' scared me." Oh, if he only  
knew… "Carryin' that kind o' stuff inside ain't good. I'll help ya, but ye gotta take the first step an' say what's wrong."

There were moments when Shiro expected Shizuku to float up into Enlightenment and disappear from the physical world. Such a great guy: such an  
admirable, honest, kind guy. Now would be a perfect time for him to reach Enlightenment.

Shiro had expected Shizuku to notice something was off; he'd just hoped he wouldn't put him up against the wall about it. In retrospect, that was a  
plain stupid hope. Shizuku was as blunt as Shiro was when it came to addressing issues – the difference was that he did it out of genuine concern, not  
for code of honour or duty.

"You're a great guy, Shizu-san", he said, noticing a slight throat burn developing, "but you can't be everywhere. The one who needs support right  
now is Ryuuji-san, and I-"

"Don't", Shizuku bit off in steely tones, "switch subject. An' don't make me hit ye 'gain, 'cause that really fuckin' hurt, and I can't hit as hard as I want  
to with my left." The spark of humour fluttered awkwardly in the tense atmosphere, and went out. "Ryuuji-san's with Midori-chan and Sen-chan. I'm  
here fe' _you_."

Back in the dead end, then. He could make up a lie, maybe bring up his parents and twist it to fit circumstances, somehow…

"_As if he wouldn't see through that! You're overdue anyway_", a calculating part of his mind murmured. Lies are a delicate thing: like crops, they need  
to be planted at the right time to grow successfully. Plant them now and Shizuku's cold glare would wither them like a blizzard. "_Any lie at this point  
would have to be elaborate, and elaborate lies have many weak links. He's smart enough to find you out: and if he does, you'll have more to explain  
and less lies for doing it._"

And if you can't weave a credible lie, and you can't tell the truth… then your sole resort is the most blatant lie you can come up with.

"There's nothing wrong with me", he said flatly, bracing for the punch but not intending to block it.

Shizuku stared at him, taking a second to translate what he was being told. Shiro kept his face calm, horribly calm, though inwardly… inwardly, the  
coals still glowed in the darkness.

"_Just go: get pissed and walk away and never bring this up aga-_"

"Stop fuckin' lyin' ta me!" Shizuku exploded. "There's been something _extremely _damn wrong with you all along! Look at all the demons 'round ye!  
Like dogs smelling a bitch on heat!" His fists clenched tight, unclenched in sharp gestures, clenched again… but no strike fell. "An' I knew ye were  
stupid, but I didn't think in a million years ye'd be stupid enough ta go confide in a _demon_!" he snarled, his eyes gone from deep brown to pitch black  
with anger. "But clearly, ye were – an' don't ye dare try ta deny ye did. Mephisto Pheles took _you _ta the hearing at headquarters; 'e selected _you  
_from Knight class, even when ye were the crappiest student there was; 'e went down with _you _ta the target range for practice – Midori-chan tells  
me ye even _smell _of 'im! Nothing wrong, ye say? There's something _fuckin'_ wrong with anyone who gets that kind o' attention from a demon! Yer  
not leaving till ye've told me just what the hell yer carryin', ye understand?" He grabbed Shiro by the lapels of his uniform and almost yanked him  
off his feet. "I'm ye' friend, ye half-wit: I can tell somethin's not right! I don't care what it is as long as ye _say something, _dammit! Just drop ye' stupid  
pride or independence or whatever the hell yer clinging to an' _say_ something! _Anything_ is fine as long 's ye don't, fuckin', _lie_!" he growled, bearing  
down on Shiro like an agitated bear.

Friends. The people that have your back, come hell or high water. The people that laugh with you and cry with you. The people that are so determined  
to help you they unintentionally make everything worse.

Friends are the people that always try to do their best for you. And Shiro… would try to do his best for Shizuku: in a way Shizuku would never understand.

He sank deeper into that cold, detached state.

"Let go of me, Shizu-san. I'm fine."

The dark eyes flared – and died. The look of one throwing a rope to a drowning man who won't take hold of it.

"No yer not", he hissed, forcing his fingers to release the uniform.

Shiro wrapped the coldness around himself like a cloak and took his time. Smoothed out the lapels. Tugged the uniform jacket back in place. Put  
a smoke between his teeth. Lit it.

"_I'm sorry._"

Shizuku watched it all, and the raw anger in his eyes made the air curl tightly around him like explosive gas. Shiro turned to leave, and hated himself.

"G'nite."

"_Just walk away, coward_", he growled bitterly at himself. "_And let's see if you can ever look yourself in the mirror again._"

"Keep telling ye'self yer fine, ye liar!" Shizuku's snarl echoed through the still evening, through the trees; through the cold detachment. "That's the  
kind a' pent-up stuff that makes demons fancy ya – ye might wanna deal with that!"

* * *

He did deal with it: at the target practice range. That evening, he beat Natsuya's high score on unlimited mode.


	56. 56: Don't know me

**A/N: I do not own or profit in any way from what Kazue Kato has created.**

"'Cover the underground floors'", Shiro muttered, his booted feet pounding the floor. "There's nothing _in _the blasted underground floors, jerkface…"  
Akihiro had sent him down there for that very reason, he was sure of it. Yaonaru Akihiro, whom sadistic gods had chosen to lead this mission.

Pff, gods. That would be Samael. Wasn't that his name, after all?

"_Send the Dragoon to the empty wards._" Shiro threw open another door to another examination room, already knowing it would be empty. "_And the  
Doctor into the fray._" Yep, empty. As all the others had been. "_Just 'cause he's your dear little brother. Asshat._"

The hospital was temporarily closed for issues with mold: mold with very long fingers and very sharp fish-teeth, and an unfortunate penchant for  
sabotaging everything mechanical.

Gremlins were easy targets. They settled, made a mess, were discovered, and were eliminated. Typical demons, as far as anyone was concerned.  
Anyone could deal with typical demons.

It was when demons started acting outside that pattern that you might want to start worrying.

Etymology was a small course included in exorcism history. It was a messy business, and it had no application whatsoever unless you met a Lord of  
Gehenna (in which case you would be more interested in running than in discussing the details of his name), and for those reasons only the essentials  
of demon etymology were taught. If you wanted the etymology of Samael, you had to go way back. Shiro had come across it during his digging,  
and remembered it only because it had confused him as much as it had confused the authors of those old books. Confusion was probably the reason  
it had been omitted in later editions: how do you explain that a demon bears the name of God?

Let alone one who is Satan's son.

And who sides with humans.

Not your typical demon.

Shiro snapped out of his thoughts and back to the mission. He had reached his third staircase, which meant he had covered one third of the basement  
level. The most advanced equipment down here were machines that rotated blood samples: the gremlins would be more interested in the fancier  
stuff, like the tomographs on floor five.

He slowed his pace, and his body settled into firing stance on autopilot: back straight, legs apart, gun aimed at the ground between his feet. Why was  
he stopping…? There were still two thirds left of useless recon before he could go up that staircase and do some good…

Samael was successful because he didn't act like your typical demon.

Shiro glanced again at the staircase, a small smile forming on his lips. Maybe he shouldn't act like your typical exorcist, then.

* * *

_This _was more like it.

Shiro was still catching his breath after jogging up the fourteen flights of stairs when he put a silver-coated blessed bullet in the first gremlin – an ugly  
little thing with spider leg-fingers and a crinkly hide that looked like dried mud. He peered around every corner, not wanting to be taken by surprise but  
also not wanting to take some other exorcist by surprise: mix humans with adrenaline and firearms and things can go very bad.

It would be wrong to say that going on a mission was relaxing… well, then Shiro was wrong through and through, because he _did _relax. Mentally. The  
labyrinthine corridors of the hospital drew his attention from Shizuku, Samael and dead classmates, and the low hum of electricity and the distant  
report of gunfire tuned his ears to the world outside his head. Made sense, in a way: escape your inner demons by hunting the ones outside.

Then again, you can encounter things worse than demons.

He suppressed a groan when he spotted Kita around the next corner. The dick looked okay – a bit warm and out of breath, but other than that…

Other than… that little girl in hospital-clothing that he held by the hand…

"Oi, Kita-san." Shiro thought it best to announce he was there before he stepped clear of the corner. "Let go of that girl."

The girl in question jumped with fright and hid behind Kita's legs. She couldn't be more than five, and yet…

"You? Shouldn't you be downstairs?" Kita looked as happy as Shiro about this encounter.

"Figured I'd do more good here, and I was right. That girl's not human", he retorted. The muzzle of his gun already pointed at the creature, whatever  
it was.

"Lower that gun. She's not a demon – I doused her in holy water."

"Then what is she?" Shiro didn't lower his gun. "Why's she here? The hospital is vacated."

The girl began crying, like any human girl would've done in this situation. Maybe he was wrong…? She _looked _human, and he couldn't imagine how a girl  
five years old could have become wicked enough for a demon to possess her, but that persistent feeling in his gut…

"Would you stop pointing a gun at a little girl, you imbecile? She said she was left behin- *cough cough*" Too out of breath to be arrogant? How fast  
could he have been running with that little critter in tow…?

That little critter, who wasn't even panting…

"She's not a demon: she's dead." Shiro strode closer, warily, steadily aiming the gun at the little trembling shape cowering behind Kita. "And so are you,  
if you don't let her go. You've got boils coming up on your neck", he informed, throwing a glance at Kita's sweat-coated face. "It's an acheri, a disease  
ghost."

Finally, Kita let go of the kid – but she didn't let go of him. She clung to his leg with the high-pitched shrieks of a child frightened beyond sense. Not  
afraid of an exorcist: afraid to die…

"_She doesn't know she's dead_", Shiro realized. "She thinks she's alive…"

"Then make her think *cough* otherwise!" Kita wheezed. "You can't fight ghosts with guns!" His attempts to peel the panicked girl from his leg  
caused the agitated skin on his fingers to crack and leak a sticky, translucent substance. He slid down on the floor with his back against the wall and  
tried to kick the ghost off his leg, to no avail. She might look frail, but she was strong. "She has to let *cough cough* let go of this life!"

"Right. Hey, kid! Kiddo!" Shiro sat down on his haunches, close enough to talk to the child and far enough that he could jump back if she tried to  
touch him. "What's your name? Listen to me! What's your name?"

No chance in hell she'd listen: she turned her scrunched-up face away from him and screamed louder.

"You talk to her, I just scare her!"

"Hey… sweetie…?" Kita placed a sickly, boil-infested hand on her hair. "It's okay, girl. What's your name?"

He would rather bite a bullet than admit it aloud, but Shiro had to admire Kita's composure: he doubted he would've been able to sound so calm if he  
were dying. The girl hiccupped something that sounded like Miho between sobs and sharp, mewling cries.

"Good. Miho-chan… you weren't left behind here." Kita wet his parched lips. "You died. You're not alive. You're a ghost, and you're hurting people.  
*cough* Right now, you're *cough* hurting me…" And with no sign of stopping it, either: Miho wailed louder, and her stubby little fingers tightened  
their grip on his trousers. "You're dead. Please, move on…!"

This wasn't going anywhere…! Shiro racked his brain, tried to think of anything at all, any way to make a ghost realize it was-

"Miho-chan. Miho-chan!"

She glanced at him. The panic in her eyes was horribly real. Her tears were real. She was real. She was alone, afraid, alive – in her own mind, she was  
alive, and the mind is a powerful thing. A human can't create illusions to fool others, like kitsune and tanuki, but she can create illusions to fool herself.  
Anything the mind creates in the world it's built for itself is real: and in this frightened little girl's world, she was alive.

"You think you're alive, don't you?" Shiro detached from himself, aimed carefully to avoid hitting Kita in the leg, and did what had to be done. "That  
means you think you can die."

*bang*

The little body went limp, went through Kita's leg, dissolved like mist that-

Shiro felt it. Like a breath of cold air against his face, like the thin string of fear plucked in the dark of the night, he felt the demon touch him as it left  
the dying vapours of Miho.

"Are you out of your mind?" Kita coughed as he fumbled to get the syringe through the rubber stopper of the vial from his belt, and turn it upside  
down to draw out its contents. "That's not how you put a spirit to rest!"

"Give yourself that antidote and can it", Shiro snapped. He didn't know if the cold tightening he felt in his chest was from the demon, or from the look  
in Miho's eyes when he'd fired; but he did know that if Kita was thinking of lecturing him right now, he would shut him up with force. "It might not be  
the proper way to do it, but at least you're alive."

"One should treat the dead with *cough* respect", he said and stabbed the syringe into his arm through the uniform. "That spirit won't find rest with  
your _barbaric _manner of sending her on. Then again, I suppose I knew how you treat the dead already."

Kita wasn't Shizuku. Shizuku smacked him right in the face with his opinion: Kita hid his in a tiny, acidic barb aimed at just the right spot.

"I didn't feel well at the ceremony."

Kita's smile as he swallowed three capsules of herbal extract was no smile: a smile implies happiness, and this was mere scorn.

"That I can understand, after that pilgrim knocked out a tooth or two. It would seem your manners are distastefully crude even to one who comes  
by through begging and sleeping in the ditch."

"I just saved your life, you little shit", Shiro growled, feeling the coals in his chest burning through the cold. "Is gratitude too crude for people other  
than beggars and barbarians to know of?"

Apparently, since Kita didn't deliver any snide comeback. Or a "thanks", for that matter. What a dick… and what a perfect time to get some answers  
out of him.

Shiro was distracted by another gremlin, but not very long. Was it right, to squeeze an injured guy for information...?

"The only things you're good at are shooting and cursing", Kita remarked from the floor. "You don't *cough* know what you did, do you? She thought  
she was alive: in her mind, what you did was murder. A vengeful spirit will-"

"If you'd rather wanted me to let her kill you, it isn't too late to amend that."

Telling an empty threat from a serious one is difficult for most, because few have ever been faced with a serious threat: but when you are, there is  
no mistaking it. There is a calmness about the voice that contrasts jarringly with the words it speaks, in a way that sets your very bones tingling.

Kita's bones tingled: still, his mind couldn't accept what his tense, weakened body told him.

"What are you implying?"

Shiro had to read the whisper on his lips as a sudden burst of gunfire echoed through the corridors.

"Just saying I'd rather avoid an accident", he said, raising his arm ever so slightly to aim the muzzle at Kita's legs on the floor. "Ricocheting bullets  
and such, can happen to the best of us – happened when your brother was on a mission with Todo Eiji, right?"

The look on Kita's face made him smile darkly on the inside. So high and mighty in the classroom, but in a field situation you could always trust his  
nerves.

"So, about that talk you and your brother wanted to have with me: would now be a good time?"

"…you're out of your mind", the lanky guy said in a low voice, staring at him as one would stare at a madman. "You're not fit for fieldwork. You're  
demented."

"A bit on the cold side, maybe", he stated, letting a bit of that dark smile slip onto his lips, "but I like to think of myself as practical: it's a lot more  
practical to chat this way than with your brother acting coat rack. What were you two discussing that evening?"

"Family business", was the tense reply.

"Indeed? How about we pretend I'm family, then?" He let the smile grow wider; grow meaner. "My grades say I could be. Truth is I'm better than  
you, at everything. Akihiro-senpai knows it, too. He sent me down the basement to give you a fighting chance, didn't he? And even then, I have to  
come and save your ass." Oh, how he had _longed _for an opportunity to say that to the little brat! "_I'm such an asshole._" Keen observation. Saying  
he was sorry for it would've been a lie, though. "You could say you owe me: so what's that family business again…?"

Kita held it together well, but there was that tiny sharpening of his jaw line that betrayed clenched teeth, and that almost unnoticeable look of  
grappling in his eyes: grappling for threads that were coming undone. How small he was, sagging against the wall like that…

Shiro registered the sound of tiny, hard feet clattering against linoleum floor before Kita could shout the warning. He aimed the gun backwards at  
the sound and fired: the steady rhythm ended in an abrupt thud that skidded to a halt.

"Sorry, didn't catch that. You were saying…?"

"We were talking about the artefact", Kita said in low tones, wary eyes burning into him. "And how to best keep it safe."

"Hand it over to True Cross Order, then." They had brought that up at the hearing last Christmas: Deep Keep was the safest bunker in the country.  
"_But-_" But Yaonaru had turned down the offer every time… "Or is _that_ what you're keeping it safe from…?" Yes, the quick flicker in Kita's eyes told  
him. Yes: there was something going on there that he didn't feel like sharing. "What is that artefact, and why don't you want the Order to have it?"

Kita's lips twitched as humour temporarily overrode nervousness. His gaze didn't flicker this time, no: it filled with contempt.

"The Order", he snorted.

Shiro flinched when the walkie-talkie in his belt conveyed a crackling voice:

"This is Yaonaru Akihiro. We have located the gremlin nest. All exorcists assemble in room 698-B in the cardiology ward, sixth floor. Do you copy?"

"Yaonaru Kita, copy", Kita spoke into his transmitter. "Incapacitated, without serious injury thanks to Fujimoto Shiro, who will be joining you in  
698-B shortly." He didn't click it off, only gave Shiro a cold look and jerked his head in the direction of the staircase.

Shiro didn't bother with long looks and meaning glares: he jogged off to the stairs. The opportunity to make Kita talk was past, but it hadn't been  
entirely wasted.


	57. 57: Not again

**A/N: I do not own or profit in any way from what Kazue Kato has created.**

It had been easy to exterminate the gremlins once the nest was found. He didn't even get a reprimand for neglecting his assigned duty; maybe Kita did  
feel that he owed him something for saving him, despite the questioning…

The van dropped the exorcists off at the Academy, and Shiro set a brisk pace for the dorms in the light rain. Saburota was only in early in the  
morning and late at night, at which point Shiro made sure to be either asleep or out of their shared room. He didn't know what the senpai made of  
his stunt the day of the attack, and he'd rather not discuss the matter. He did, however, need to write a report on the mission.

It was the first time their class had been split up with different senpais to work on separate missions: Shiro with Kita, Shizuku with Sen, Ryuuji with-

*thud*

"You get zero points in survival test~" Midori sang, wiggling her toes into his back. "How did mission walk, Shiro-kun?"

"Go", came his muffled voice from the damp ground. He _had _heard something up on the arcade beams, but he'd thought it was a pigeon. "You get zero  
points in grammar. It went well – I had to save Kita-san from a ghost, but other than that it was okay." Feeling the weight bounce off his back, he got  
to his feet and dusted himself off. Midori's uniform looked like it had taken a heavy beating, but herself she shone like the sun. "And how did yours go?"

Midori brought up her lean arm and patted her bicep with a smug expression.

"Like water in mountain stream: many rocks ahead, but none could stop us~" Then, her ears sagged a little. "Ryuuji-kun should not come. His body is  
there, his mind not. Is good to let the dead live in you, yes", she said, patting her chest to indicate what she meant. "Not good to let death live your  
life. He needs to set straight." She cocked her head with a mournful look that was horrible on her features. "And you too."

No, not again…

"Yeah, I may have been a little off the last days", he said, checking the impulse to run a hand through his hair. He didn't have much hope of fooling  
Midori – she was more demon than human in her way of _knowing _you – but nervous ticks wouldn't help any. "I mean, with Agari-chan's death and  
all… I'm not good at dealing with such things. Sorry if I've been acting out of-"

No, he wasn't fooling her one bit. Midori sneaked up to him, staring transfixed at him as she did; one step at a time or in series of little skips, like a cat  
chasing an elusive speck of light.

"What did you do, Shiro-kun…? Your eyes… you had demon's eyes before, and now a heart to match… what did you do?" She touched his face gingerly,  
as if she were afraid he would shatter. "When you came, day after the attack, you had his smell on you. Thick, all over you. Smell of darkness, smell  
of sweet candy and strong tea. Shiro-kun, what did you do?"

…what do you say to that? How do you answer the plea in those golden eyes, where tears of desperation are dammed with the hope of your unspoken  
words? What do you say, when those unspoken words are lies?

Nothing. You say nothing. You stand there, gagged with unseen cloth, and watch the dams break when no false promises come to their support.

"Stupid Shiro-kun! Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Midori shrieked, voice cracking; and cracking something inside him. "Why don't you listen?! Why don't you  
open your eyes?!" She beat her fists against his chest, as if hammering on a door that wouldn't open. "He makes darkness grow in you! He makes  
heart hard and dead in you!"

"I'm sorry." He wrapped his arms around her and halted the barrage of blows: not so much for the physical pain it caused… "I'm sorry, Midori-chan.  
I'm sorry and I'm stupid." Just, please, don't let her end like Shizuku… "_I wish I could tell you, I really do…_" How he would've loved to hold her like  
this, under different circumstances…

"Why…?" she rasped into his shoulder, arms locked between her body and his. "Fox doesn't go to wasp nest when stung. Dog doesn't go to snake when  
bit. Moth flies to fire, but only once", she said quietly. "Are you a moth, Shiro-kun? If I say fire burns, will you still fly into it? Or will you be fox, and  
listen when I say wasp stings?"

"I don't know", he murmured. Excellent reply. Would solve everything. "I think I'm just an idiot, unfortunately."

"I set you straight, Shiro-kun", she sobbed into his shirt. "I set you straight! Why you go back to crooked?"

Yeah, why…? One hand tentatively moved to rest on her head. He didn't know anything about comforting people, but he honestly wanted – _needed_,  
dammit! – to do right by her, somehow, by any means…

"…it's who I am", he mumbled. Mere inches from his eyes, he watched her furry, black-tipped ears twitch, and bit back a wave of guilt. Dammit, she  
was such a lovely girl, so kind, so honest, so soft… and he was a genuine asshole. "I'm not a good person, Midori-chan. Really, I'm… not a guy you  
should go worrying for. Please, don't worry about me."

"You say stupid things. His smile-"

"Is a dagger, ready to stab me in the back – I know." He glanced up at the arced stone beams, and the pale grey sky they supported. "_And yet I keep  
thinking it's the only smile I'll see until this settles… if it does settle…_" Shiro drew a breath, and the scent of flowers and fighting reached him from  
Midori's hair. "You're worried I will get hurt, and I really don't deserve your concern… I appreciate it, but…" Oh come on, he could do better than that!  
Why make it sound like he was about to die, or embark on a journey with no return? Seriously… "Will you trust me if I say I flew into the fire, and it  
didn't burn me?"

Midori untangled herself gingerly to look at him. It's very rare that people actually _look _at you. That they search for the soul in your eyes and read the  
fine print of your life in the scars and creases: that they endeavour to see the person behind the face. It's a frightful thing, to be scrutinized like that.  
It's also a rare privilege, one Shiro didn't quite feel he deserved.

"You didn't burn…" Her gaze wandered from feature to feature, trying to find the reason for the hesitation in her voice. "…but you didn't come through  
unscathed. Maybe you don't notice… because you don't see…" She removed his glasses and leaned into his face, making sure he could see her eyes  
without them. Big, worried eyes with gold still melting shimmering droplets into the lower lashes. "Every time you go through fire, you burn. Little  
by little, Shiro-kun. Is the most dangerous kind of damage: turns mountain to sand, bone to dust, river to ravine. Without anybody notice." She put  
his glasses back, gently, and Shiro was awkwardly reminded of how people lay flowers on coffins. "Little by little, he will burn you to ashes."

She was probably right – hell, she always was – but the moth flies to the flame still. Shiro was a moth, more so than he was a fox or dog; always  
drawn to the flickering temptation of danger, of the half-crazy stunts and thrilling fun it promised. And Samael… _Mephisto_… was a flame he knew  
he wouldn't be able to resist.

"Look, Midori-chan… You're a lovely girl, and a wonderful friend, and I hope you'll still… still be my friend, even if I'm an idiot. Just… whatever  
happens, don't worry about me. My choices, my consequences: it has nothing to do with you, and there's no need for you to-ouch!"

Midori looked very cute when she impersonated an angry puffer fish, but that flick on his nose reminded him that with demons, appearance counted  
for nothing.

"Shiro-kun is still stupid. And I still worry." He expression relaxed and became something that hurt infinitely more than the flick. "But if Shiro-kun  
wants to pretend is fine, I will pretend it is."

Shiro had no idea what he replied after that. He couldn't remember if he had thanked her, or snarled at her, or… or simply left. What he did know  
was that something had broken inside him.

* * *

He had no idea where he went. He walked in circles, walked anywhere: anywhere that would lead away from himself, and the path he'd sworn he  
would never tread rushed by under his feet. Circles, infinite circles. That you have a crap dad doesn't mean you're crap, too…? Then why was Midori  
putting on a mask with painted smile, like his mother had done for this father?

Water. Water between his fingers. Every drop and every purpose he tried to hold onto slipped his grasp, poured out of his hands and into a vortex  
under his feet. That was the only word for it: vortex. A steady maelstrom of misfortunes sucking him towards the bottom of the ocean: no matter  
what direction he turned, he kept going downward.

"_How the hell did this happen…?_"

Humankind is the only creature capable of producing a venom that transmits without being injected or inhaled, without touch or thought or intention.  
Like acid, secrets gauge chasms and fill them with silence – while just as silently eating away at the minds they separate.

"_Stupid fucking way of losing friends…!_" And whose fault was that? Who chose the secrets? Who chose to kill humans for the sake of a demon…? "_A  
monkey that everyone around will be deaf and blind to: speaks evil it shouldn't speak, and can't speak the evil it should._" Shiro hissed the cigarette smoke  
out between his teeth, covering city streets he didn't see anyway."_Why are you always right, Midori…?_"

Samael and his schemes…

Yaonaru and their schemes…

…and his own blasted talent for screwing up with people…

…and six bodies in burial urns.

Shiro paced the streets of True Cross Town in a haze of smoke. Sometimes his footfalls drowned out the echo of the questions and the tense voices,  
and sometimes they drifted through. Sometimes he managed to leave the worried glances behind, and sometimes they caught up with him.

Sometimes he saw Susumu's calm eyes before the trigger was pulled…

...…and the vortex dragged him deeper down.

* * *

He had no idea where he was. Not where he was in True Cross Town, or where _he _was. He could always get back to the Academy by sticking his cram  
school key in any door; but to get his friends back… to get back from wherever he was going…

"_If they would all just stop worrying about my well-being, everything would be fine…_"

A smile that wasn't a smile tugged Shiro's lips. Yeah, if they could stop caring about him he would be fine: wasn't that just a lovely thing to think of  
the few people who tried to be his friends? Not that it would be fine anyway. Even if they stopped asking questions, he would be stuck with the answers.

"_They're right to worry about me_", he thought. "_Even if I didn't have the contract to think about, I could never tell them what I did. I'm seriously  
fucked up…_" And darkness rose up from the vortex to swallow him. "_Not again…_"

If you have reached the point where your first reaction to possession is "not again", you know you have a problem.

"_**You're too kind on yourself, Fujimoto Shiro. Murdering children merits a bit more than 'fucked up'.**_"

"_Shut up and get out of my body_", he snarled at it, trying to rein in darkness that was, like every other aspect of his life, slipping through his fingers.

"_**And you are afraid you might do it again.**_"

…slipping… through his fingers…

"_**It was easier than you thought, was it not? Didn't think you had it in you, but once faced with the decision you didn't hesitate.  
Not once, not twice: six times, and you didn't hesitate~**_"

"_I had to! I…!_"

Could have backed down.

Could have let them explain.

Could have let them go on, once he learnt who Mephisto really was.

"_I…_"

Had made a choice. A good choice, or a bad one…?

"_**Free will is a waste if you don't make use of it, no~? You have made good use of yours, boy. So much suffering caused by you – makes  
one wonder: are ye even human?**_" it said, borrowing Shizuku's voice from his memories. "_**Are you even human**_", it whispered in seductive tones,  
"_**when you fall to demons so easily…?**_"

"_'course I'm human!_" he snarled, clinging to the sensation of a wall against his left shoulder. "_And way better than you!_"

"_**Are you? You chose demons over humans, did you not~?**_" it spoke, washing over him with another wave of truth dredged from the depths of his  
darkness. "_**Of all the girls at school, the half-demons were the ones that captured your interest; when questions were raised, you  
defended your demon principal – **_**killed **_**for your demon principal. Say those words again, little murderer~ Say you're human, if you truly  
believe you are.**_"

"_I…_"

Six lives for one.

Six humans for a demon.

"_I..._"

Did it in cold blood, perfectly aware of what he was doing, shedding lives like withered flower petals.

You don't need to be born a demon to be like one.

"_I..._" He couldn't; no matter how he tried to force the words out, he couldn't... "_I saved my friend_", he ground out.

The demon roared with laughter in his head, and Shiro regretted his thoughts. He heard how naïve it sounded. How far-fetched, laughable, impossible;  
for a demon to have a human friend…

…he slipped…

"_**Your friend, you say? And are you **_**his **_**friend…? Or merely a pastime puppet to serve his purposes?**_" The wall disappeared from his shoulder,  
unconsciousness caved in on him- "_**No demon would ever consider a human his equal.**_"

"_Bloody arrogant twat..._" Like a certain someone he knew... and knew _well_...

Shiro closed his ears, closed his heart to the gnawing doubts, and felt for the fragmented outlines of his self. Drowning, yes: drowning in his own  
darkness, but definitely human. A poor fucking excuse for a human, but a human still.

A human with a good understanding of demons.

"_Damn right I chose demons over humans_", he said, feeling his own will creep into the darkness, like the roots of an invasive weed. "_It ain't fun if it's  
no challenge._" He rose above the sticky unconsciousness, bit by bit crawling out of the black bog inside. "_And to a hell-raiser like me_", he smiled as  
vision slowly returned to his eyes, "_there's no challenge more fun than raising hell for arrogant bastards like you and that finicky prince._"

* * *

No demon ever considers a human his equal. Demons have the power of magic and regeneration, strength and stamina; humans have imagination.  
That is the one quality they have to enable them to fight demons on equal terms, countering claws with swords, magic with chants, minions  
with familiars, regeneration with medicine. That is what exorcists teach their students; that, and to never listen to a demon's words. A demon's  
words are the only weapon humans can never counter, because it turns their imagination against them. For that very reason, demons never expect  
a human to try. They never expect a human to challenge them on their own ground. They never expect a human to act as if he were truly their equal.

Shiro didn't care for titles, humans, or demons: he challenged anyone who sat on horses too high for his taste. He made poor choices at times, of  
course he did: that, if anything, was the essence of human nature. Humans try and fail, do bad and good... and in that, he was perfectly human.

The fight raged evenly after that. It was a rot demon, and judging from the effort he had to put into keeping awareness of his body, a mid-level one.  
He would never forget the verses for those.

When he had stayed awake long enough to chant the fatal verses to completion, he was exhausted. The demon was gone, and his arms, hands and  
knees scraped bloody from when his body had flung itself this-way-and-that at the half-conscious will of its respective owners.

"_Finally…_" The dark shadows of his doubts drew back, settling around the burning coals in his chest like chilled travellers around a fire: invisible to  
the human eye, but a welcoming beacon for any demon around. "Right…" He picked some gravel out of a particularly unpleasant wound on his elbow.  
"Time to pay that old goat a visit…"

**A/N:**

**I couldn't put this idea down as I wanted to... but hopefully you get what I want to say still...**


	58. 58: My game, my rules

**A/N: Special thanks go to ChaosVincent for helping out with this! ^_^  
And to TwistedDiscord, for giving Samael a nickname that irrevocably stuck the idea in my head.  
And to YFanGirl1613, for recommending this fic on tv-tropes and making me feel like I've been granted a place on Mount Olympus.**

**I do not own or profit in any way from what Kazue Kato has created.**

Shiro tried to get his thoughts in order as he walked up to the office, but it's hard to be prepared when you have no idea what to expect. Would it be  
Mephisto sitting in that high-backed chair, or would it be Prince Samael? As embarrassing as it was, Shiro felt his feet slow as he approached the white  
double doors. He had hesitated before those doors once before, when he hadn't known what he would find behind them. All over again, he didn't know.  
So much had changed, and yet he hoped… if only one thing could stay the same in this mess… if only just one thing, he hoped it would be Mephisto.

Shiro drew a breath, smacked himself mentally, and turned the han-

"G-huah…!"

It hit him in the gut with enough force to knock him flat on his back in the corridor: the panda itself pivoted a landing on the floor, looking extremely  
pleased with itself. Shiro stared at it, unable to find words or air.

"Did you see the _height _of that jump?" an enthusiastic voice drifted out from the office. "It was the best so far!"

"No: did you see where my kidney landed?" he snarled, crawling up on his feet with wheezing breath and intestines in disarray. "_Stupid, ridiculous…!_"

"Tsk tsk, and you study for Doctor?" the lilting voice chided. "The kidneys are-"

"In the back: I know. And I swear your stupid wastebasket dented my spine." He staggered into the office doubled-over. The panda bounced ahead  
of him, chirping and squeaking at its master behind the desk. It was rewarded with a crumpled caramel wrapping from a near-empty bowl. "Oh,  
great: you're teaching it to attack people."

"I'm making use of its unknown potential. Good afternoon, Shiro~ Show him again, will you?"

The wastebasket bounded off to the edge of the carpet and charged like a triple jumper. It leapt into a swan dive, tilting its body horizontal in the air.  
It would land on its head… but just before it made contact with the floor, the lid flipped open and catapulted the familiar into a second arch, aimed  
straight for-

Shiro caught it before it could rupture his spleen. The little creature squeaked proudly in his hands.

"I'm thinking of teaching it twists next", Mephisto announced with a face of pure, childish joy. Yep, that was Mephisto. Beyond all doubt, Mephisto.

"You're the same as ever." A smile – a _real _smile – ghosted his lips. It felt… strange? unaccustomed? …good? Regardless, he made sure to catch hold  
of it before it slipped. "So what should I call you these days? Your real name wouldn't go down well." He put the panda down on its side, disabling  
more attacks, and grabbed a chair. "But if I shorten it, it might." Shiro deposited the chair in front of the desk, and his sore body in it: the smile  
held. "I think you look like a Sammy."

Mephisto's eyelids sank like slow guillotine blades.

"Use that repulsive moniker ever again and I will have your exorcist ID read 'Shiro-pon' when you graduate."

"Right: Mephisto it is."

Normal. People might have different attitudes towards normal; contempt, idealisation, fear, longing… It all depends on what is normal to the individual,  
but most individuals react the same to _their_ normal-of-choice: they relax. They feel at ease, feel comfortable, feel… good. As the word-fencing and the  
displeased squeals of the panda drowned out the past days' arguments, Shiro relaxed into the feeling of this very peculiar situation that was _his _normal.

"Trivial matters out of the way, what brings you to my office?"

"I was wondering if you've still got my pendant somewhere, after last time? I need it back."

The demon's smile curled like the tail of a cat that has spotted prey.

"Is that really the question you should be asking~?"

Oh yes, everything was normal: and Mephisto was playing games where Shiro could only fumble his way ahead blindly. He looked at the demon, trying  
to read… Was there something he had missed? Something he should have thought of? Something…

"…you could have sent your bat with it, as you did before", he said, testing the proverbial ice with careful steps. "But you didn't." His brow furrowed  
as Mephisto's smile grew more… satisfied? "You wanted me to come for it. Why?"

"_That's _the question: bravo~ And you are about to provide the answer to it. Eins, zwei, drei!"

"…the Ceremonial Hall?" Shiro glanced around the familiar training ground. Of all places, hadn't expected this…

"And it shall house a most unusual ceremony indeed." Mephisto removed his top hat and pulled a sheathed katana out of it. "I want you to fight to kill",  
he said, tossing the weapon to Shiro. "Summon every ounce of strength and dexterity in you and try to cut me down."

He was still Mephisto, alright. Doing weird crap without any explanation. Shiro had to admit, he couldn't even guess what this was about. What did  
sparring have to do with his pendant? Or was it just his next weird game…?

"Interesting~" Mephisto poofed both swords away after a while of intense sparring that didn't amount to anything.

"What is?" Shiro asked, wiping the back of his hand across his dripping forehead. Hadn't they sparred a hundred times before…?

"Patience, Shiro~" he smiled, a strange spark flickering in his eyes. "Eins, zwei, drei!"

This time, they were…

"Are we… in Tokyo?"

"Tokyo it is, but we aren't here." Mephisto took in the surroundings with the airs of a proud gardener. "Only our minds are. So, tell me: what do you see?"

Besides the milling people and the multi-story houses and the neon advertisem-?

"What the…?"

You would always see coal tars in cities, and the occasional goblin making passers-by trip or snatching newspapers out of peoples' hands. But this…

"There are… demons. Everywhere." He stared with big eyes at the multitude of shapeless shadows hovering among the humans. They buzzed like  
millions of wasps wrapped in cotton, in the streets and in shop windows and phasing through walls. "But they aren't doing anything. They just…"

"Wait", Mephisto said in soft tones. "Wait for a chance to slip into an unsuspecting host: these are spirits that have not yet fully transitioned from  
Gehenna to Assiah. What can you tell me about them?"

"What? I don't… or… I _think_ that, that one", he pointed to a churning cloud of black in the middle of a road crossing, "is a fire type. And that one…"  
His brow furrowed, though he wasn't sure what he was looking for, or listening for, or what senses you had access to when you were just a disembodied  
presence. "A rot demon…?"

"Interesting indeed~ Tell me, Shiro: have you noticed anything different since the events in Deep Keep?"

"Besides screwing up everything with people around me? No, not really", he said dryly.

"Hasty hasty: think again", he sang: and dissolved when a hurried man in suit walked through him. "Think in terms of demons."

Mephisto was still there when the man had passed, still with that odd spark in his eyes: and Shiro remembered where he had seen it. That was the  
gleam from the first day they had met, when he had boldly laid down his demands for their contract. And if he were to chance a guess at what that  
meant, he would say it was the proverbial spark of interest.

"They've been after me a lot", Shiro replied in level tones: he knew the demon well enough to know that when he found something about you  
interesting, you'd better be on guard. "That's why I came to get my charm back."

"How would you describe Futotsuki Sen, your classmate?" Mephisto asked, strolling leisurely through the busy people as if he were smoke.

"What…?" When you don't understand a thing, just play along. Shiro followed, reflexively stepping out of the way for people who could neither see  
nor touch him. "Um, distant…?" He recalled the serene look on her face that time during their Esquire exams, when Midori and Sen's goblin had  
feasted on raw deer-meat. "Creepy. As hell. And…" And during the same exam, she had wanted to abandon Agari and Kita to die. "Callous. I don't  
know, she…"

"Isn't like other girls?" Mephisto filled in over his shoulder.

"Yeah. And where are you going with all these questions?"

"To a phenomenon known as 'imprint'."

Imprint? Wasn't that what animal newborns did…?

"Never heard of it."

"Not surprising." They strolled down the lively Chuo Dori; ghosts, side by side with the living. "What the Vatican fears, it tends to bury deep. Imprint  
was first observed in the Futotsuki clan, since they are one of few demon-worshipping societies to survive to modern day. As you know, they bond with  
demons by letting them tap into the darkness in their hearts: however~" He reached out and flicked away a coal tar that was tickling a woman's nose  
and making her sneeze. "A bond of that kind works both ways: demon taps into human, human taps into demon, and lines blur. After years of bonding,  
neither is entirely human or entirely demonic. Futotsuki Sen isn't like other girls, because her heart has housed that goblin familiar for most of her  
short lifetime. That", he said, turning to face Shiro with a smile like a silken garrotte string, "is imprint. You", he poked a gloved finger in his chest,  
"show the first signs of it."

Somewhere, in a body hundreds of miles away, Shiro felt the words hit his gut with the force of ten wastebasket pandas.

"What…? I… when your heart was…?"

"With normal bonding, it takes years for a human to imprint to the point it would be noticeable: you seem to have done it in seconds. Granted,  
containing a demon's heart at full power is a tad more intense than mere bonding", Mephisto snickered, stroking his beard with the expression of a  
stock shark eyeing promising figures. "I'm not sure it has ever been done before."

"And what, exactly… would an imprint entail?" he asked, covering rather successfully how utterly thrown off balance he was. "_Not that there's anything  
wrong with Sen… oh screw that: there's a _lot _wrong with Sen._"

"Don't ask me~ That depends entirely on the human. What grows in the human heart is planted by humans, and the only thing demons do is make  
the seeds thrive: an imprint merely augments the darkness already in you, a proverbial push in the direction you are already headed."

No. No, no, no, _no_…!

"_I killed-_" Not to mention a life of stealing, fighting, using people, lying – all of it, all the wrongs he'd ever done crawled up his throat and clogged  
it to the point he could barely breathe. "How do you reverse it?" he croaked with a feeling that his far-off body was going to be sick any moment. "_Probably  
comes with one hell of a price tag, but that won't matter…_"

It's one thing to be targeted by demons: that he could live with. But to live with himself being-

"There is no such thing as reversing an imprint."

What…?

"Say that again…?" he whispered, barely able to hear his own voice for the buzzing in his ears. The ocean of life around them kept moving as if nothing  
had happened. Just kept moving... as if the world hadn't ended there and then...

"There is no such thing as reversing an imprint", the demon repeated with the ease of the truly heartless. "Even after a bond is severed, the imprint  
remains."

"Are you fucking shitting me? There has to be _some _way of reversing it, or halting it, or- or why the hell would you tell me if there wasn't _anything  
_to do about it?!" he shouted, partway between rage and panic.

"Now now, calm down~"

"Don't you tell me to fucking calm down! _You_ put this imprint on me, and you will find some way of removing it! I don't care if you think it's interesting  
or _fun_: you're gonna turn me back to normal or I-"

"Hush, little lion~" Mephisto purred softly, so close the gloved finger on Shiro's lips was the only thing separating them from Mephisto's. Shiro did  
close his mouth, just in case that finger was suddenly removed… "Take a look around: you have quite the audience~"

The humans milled about, unaware of the phantom visitors. But they did have an audience. Without Shiro noticing, the shadowy forms of the  
demons had closed in on them; watching them without eyes, circling them like vultures waiting for the prey to draw its final breath.

"You are here in mind only, with no body for them to possess", Mephisto murmured next to his face. "But they sense the darkness in you, as you  
sense the darkness in them. Kukukuku, indeed, you have imprinted fast…"

Shiro's lungs emptied in a single breath, as of a giant fist getting him in the gut. He wasn't a good person, he was fully aware of that. But to have  
it thrown in his face like this, with these things watching him from another dimension, eating him with unseen eyes…

"I told you, because this is your future." Mephisto made a sweeping gesture, as if the shapeless, buzzing entities waiting to tear into him were a grand  
view from the top of the world. "They will be your companions; your silent watchers, your ever-present suitors, waiting to make your body theirs."

"Tell me you're joking…" he breathed.

"Sadly, no", said a voice that didn't know the concept of sadness. "Good to see you have cooled your head: now, to business~" He snapped his  
fingers, and minds and bodies reassembled on their chairs in his office.

The cheerful stripes and pinks and yellows seemed to stab the eyes worse than ever. His mind was still on the streets of Tokyo, face to face with…  
his future.

"_Calm down, it probably sounds worse than it actually is. Sen might be weird, but she's had that familiar, what, ten years? And she's no maniac killer,  
is she?_" But Sen was imprinted on a goblin: he was imprinted on a bloody _Prince_… "_Even he doesn't know exactly what will happen…_" Keep calm,  
keep it together… "Is there anything… _anything _that can be done…?" he asked, fumbling to come to terms with it. To accept that the chaos over the  
past days was going to become his everyday life. His fingers clung awkwardly to the curved armrests of the chair: he really needed a cigarette…

"Why, certainly~" Mephisto said in light tones, stirring health-hazardous amounts of sugar into a steaming teacup. "An imprint is an integrated part  
of your own nature: while it can't be reversed or removed, it is up to you whether to embrace or suppress that nature." *tink* *tink* *tink* went the  
spoon against the cup, rhythmic and thin and nerve grating. "It's the choice all humans make, every minute of every day: just a bit more challenging  
for someone whose nature tips towards the demonic", he smiled.

"That's all you have to say, after doing this to me?" Shiro seethed, feeling a furnace open in his gut to line every word with an edge of molten steel.  
"'Take care of it yourself, good luck and good bye'? Not even 'sorry I infected you with an imprint that will turn you into a monster'?"

He wasn't surprised, not really, but he _was_ furious; and if anything in the room deserved to bear the brunt of that, it was that callous, smiling  
bastard in the high-backed chair.

"Would you describe yourself as pure of heart, Shiro? A servant of good, led by conscience to treat his fellow humans with kindness and respect~?"  
Sweet mockery curled like a scorpion tail in his voice; and in the depths of the half-mast eyes, Shiro glimpsed Prince Samael… "You were no saint to  
begin with, little lion~" he purred. "On the contrary, you had enough darkness in your heart to be compatible with mine." Compatible? _Compatible_…  
with Satan's son…? *tink* ... *tink* ... *tink* "With or without imprint, you are a human in appearance and a demon at heart: and you are so by choice."  
Mephisto put the spoon down on the saucer and sipped. "Which has further supported my decision not to return the charm miss Honda gave you."

"What?" After all he'd said, after all he'd showed him, he was going to _deny _him…? "Are you completely out of your mind?!" he bellowed, a hairsbreadth  
from grabbing his chair and bringing it down on the demon's head. "You'll make me a sitting duck for all Gehenna's demons to gang up on – _that's  
_your idea of helping out?! I'll be dead within a week – I've had two demons trying to possess me already!"

"Trying", Mephisto emphasized with a polite smile that made Shiro ponder if a seventh murder would make any greater difference, now that he had  
been oh-so-helpfully pushed down that slope anyway. "You exorcised them yourself, did you not?"

"If you think I'll spend the rest of my life like that, you can go-"

Mephisto snapped his fingers and had Shiro effectively gagged and bound to the chair.

"Such hot blood in the young ones", he sighed, resting his cheek in his hand with the smile of one who is watching an unruly puppy attempt to  
drag away a shoe larger than itself. "As sweet as that mouth of yours is, it's good to also know how to use your ears. I have important things to  
tell you."

Oh, probably more great news, then. Shiro snorted through his gag and attempted to murder Mephisto with glares alone.

"My father cannot access Assiah, for the simple reason that nothing here is strong enough to contain him", he drawled. "At full power, there is  
nothing that can endure my presence either." Mephisto sipped tea with his little finger raised proudly as the bowsprit on a barque. "You should have  
died in Deep Keep, but your body seems – for lack of better word – _built _to house powers that humans normally can't. Isn't that interesting~?" he  
beamed. "Though, of course, I won't be the only one to think so. Father will be very interested in that body; not yet, but once he learns of your  
existence you will have to fight for your life every waking moment. 'All the more reason to have the pendant', your eyes say." Mephisto answered  
his glare with a pleasant smile. "That trinket will protect you no more than a sheet of rice paper would shield you from a downpour. Satan is a god:  
no charm or ward on earth can keep him away." Shiro felt himself empty like a broken water tank. No, this couldn't… "Fortunately for you, that  
resilient body came with a resilient mind~" That… was not a smile. That was an invitation to a game of Russian roulette, written out in two lines of  
sharp, white letters. "You will endure demons' assaulting you, until you learn to fend for yourself with no other ward than that mind: and you will  
temper it into a shield strong enough to keep demons out by force of will alone – strong enough to keep even Satan himself out. As long as he can't  
gain access to the darkness in your heart, he can't possess you. Furthermore~" The cup made the spoon company on the saucer with a soft clink.  
"As Director of True Cross Order Japan, I am bound by duty to eliminate demonic threats to Assiah. Should you fail to block access to your heart,  
you would be a potential gateway for Satan to enter Assiah: you see the pinch I'm in, ye~s?" It is an art, to menace without sounding menacing.  
To weave words into a silken slipknot noose and meander it around one's neck with serpentine politeness. It is an art, and Mephisto had had millennia  
to perfect it. "The choice you have to make is a rather simple one: temper your mind, or I will have to eliminate you." He snapped his fingers and  
released Shiro from his bonds. "We~ll…?"

"'Well' what?" he snarled through clenched teeth. "It's not even a real choice. I'll do whatever it takes to stay alive and stay me."

"Splendid~!" Mephisto clapped his hands together in one of his nerve grating turnabouts. "Now, you already know the basics of blocking possession,  
but to help you fully grasp the theory behind I have prepared a few educational illustrations~" He snapped his fingers and summoned his bat to hover  
beside him with a stack of crayon drawings in its claws. "This is you", he said, using an oversized polkagris as pointer, and tapped at the yellow-haulmed  
karami daikon, "and when this demon", which looked more like a disgruntled potato with germ-horns, "tries to tap into your darkness, you must  
close your heart, as the next picture explains…"

Normal. Things would never be normal again.

* * *

******A/N:**

**Okay, I will in no way claim that the idea of imprint is canon, it's just something that developed out of the fic itself… It seems,  
however, that demons** **strive to augment the darkness in a person, plausibly to make it easier to possess them. And if you enter a  
"symbiosis", of the kind I've imagined up,** **I think you're likely to experience that augmentation little by little.**  
**The main idea, I think, could be canon. Only Mephisto could be "qualified" to determine that Shiro is indeed capable of living through  
possession by Satan.** **And I think he would need to "practice" on the lower-level demons he attracts, to learn to close his heart and  
fight off possession before Satan catches** **wind of this potential vessel. Speaking of vessels: join me for a short trip back to the first  
chapter of the manga…?**

**Shiro: "Demons tend to possess those most similar to themselves." / "Demons possess wicked souls." (different translations)**

**So there's two parameters to being "the only person in the world Satan can possess": you need to have the physical/mental disposition  
to endure it…** **and you need to be like a demon yourself.**

**Funny anecdote: I was mulling over this chapter when I walked past the café next to the train station. They usually play music out  
****in the street there,** **and I catch a line from a song I've never heard before: "he got a black heart, he got such a dirty black heart".  
****And I cracked a huge grin. x3**


	59. 59: Limited-edition toys

**A/N: It's unusual, but occasionally I publish just one chapter. This one felt like it wanted to start a little ahead of its siblings.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

-

White hair.

White eyebrows, tilting down towards the bridge of his nose.

Pathetic beard-growth. Always.

Maroon eyes – drawing slightly downwards at the corners. Dark circles underneath.

Eyes like a demon…?

Shiro could see no demon in the features the mirror showed him. He splashed water on his face and looked at himself again, hands resting on the  
edges of the sink.

Orphan.

Troublemaker.

Criminal.

Murderer.

Vessel of Satan.

"_At least it can't get any worse from here_", he thought with a wry smile at his reflection. Shiro put his glasses back on and went out for evening practice.

Closing one's heart was not a pleasant experience. That said, it wasn't unpleasant; just uncomfortable. It was like a starched uniform of the mind,  
stiff and creaking and restraining. It took a lot of concentration to maintain, and inside the Academy he occasionally let it slip to focus on lessons.

Outside the Academy, he held his shield up constantly. Tiring and annoying, yes, but it had to be drilled into a motor skill he could perform without even  
thinking. For now, however, he was glad that he had to divert his thoughts to it.

Tch, it _was _unpleasant. No matter what he wanted to tell himself, it was. Close off your heart? Close off emotional response with it. It wasn't so much a  
uniform as a mental isolation cell: nothing truly got through to him, and nothing came out of him. It was similar, in a way, to the cold detachment that  
let him do horrible things without blinking. If you don't feel, you don't care: you know that what you do might hurt somebody, but that's a mechanical  
knowledge. It doesn't really bother you.

"_Brought it on myself, no use complaining about it…_" he muttered as he strolled through the streets.

It was still early enough for people to be out, and late enough for some of them to be thinking of going home. Those were the decisions ordinary people  
concerned themselves with, worlds apart from him. Worlds so close, yet so far apart: he saw all the coal tars hovering lazily in the air, and felt stronger  
presences awake in the dusk here and there. No one knew of those presences. No one knew of him.

He turned into an unlit alley, a shortcut to the less populated streets. A bitter smile crooked his lips: it wasn't humans he was out to meet, anyway. He  
was alone in the alleys between the laughing people and the desolate silence, a drifting entity between day and night. Alone between worlds.

* * *

Shiro wiggled the unlit cigarette up and down with his tongue, pondering what to do. He knew he was being tailed, and he knew by whom. That didn't  
bother him: what did bother him was _how _he knew. He just knew. Knew the way you know where your hand or foot is.

Telling him to quit skulking about would confirm that he could sense him, which in turn would confirm that the imprint… was real. He didn't want to admit  
that. He didn't want to admit that he had changed, and would keep changing, even if-

"_Oh for crying out loud!_" he snapped at himself. "_As if it would matter! Admitting or no admitting; doesn't change anything, does it?_" He plucked the  
cigarette from his mouth to yell at Mephisto to show himself, but halted. No, he knew how to address that old goat _properly_…

Shiro put the smoke back between his lips and fished out his lighter. Flicking the switch, and cupping his hand around the cigarette, he focused: focused  
on the part of him that wasn't him, but that he could still… feel.

He drew a breath of smoke, closed his lighter… and hurled it into the shadows of a container for waste construction material.

"Nice catch", he said, casually shoving his hands into his pockets as Mephisto's immaculately white shape melted into vision.

"Guten Abend to you too." The lamplight glinted off the lighter between his thumb and forefinger. "Need I really tell you that throwing things at people  
is very rude…?"

"It's quite rude to stalk people, too", Shiro observed in mock-polite tones.

"Stalk? Dear Shiro, a gentleman does no such thing. As your principal, I am responsible for your safety." Mephisto sauntered over to him with the  
hideous umbrella for walking stick. "Even more so since I have part in your current condition. I merely wanted to be sure nothing happens to you  
during practice."

Oh, what a load of crap.

"Really?" Shiro's smile widened into sardonic sweetness. "I thought guardian angels came from the other department. And with a little less fangs." He blew  
a fan of smoke at the sky, tapping ashes off the end of the cigarette while he did. "You're here to keep an eye on me, alright; I'm your new limited-edition  
toy, and it would suck pretty hard if I got mangled by some rogue demon before you were done playing." He shifted his weight to his other foot, giving  
Mephisto a calculating look. "'Making use of its unknown potential', was it?" He held out his hand for his lighter. "First new trick to learn: blocking demons."

Oh, it amused him. He wouldn't let it show, but Shiro knew. There were ideas and expectations crawling in those green eyes like maggots in a cadaver.  
Mephisto always appreciated a bold player.

"First new trick learnt: sensing demons." Mephisto placed the lighter in his upturned palm. "And thinking like one."

Shiro tensed. Stared at that pleasant face. Realized.

"_Son of a…_" He felt like crumpling up his head and all it's contents like a piece of trash paper: yes, he had just proven that he knew how demons  
worked… "Tch, aren't you a clever one…?" he muttered as he tucked the lighter back into his pocket. Words drifted into his mind like a rancid stench  
you can't escape no matter where you turn your head: _are ye even human? _"If you're done playing, can you leave?"

"Ah – and for the longest time I hoped the imprint would have transferred some manners into you", he sighed, tilting his head to the side with a  
less-than-impressed look. "Seems nothing will change that, however."

"You're not done playing, then", Shiro bluntly observed. "What do you want?"

"Always the wrong questions~" he smiled, voice lowering as his eyelids did. "What do _you _want, Shiro?"

"I want my old life back."

He didn't care if he told the plain truth to the demon: he would know anyway, just like Shiro knew he was being toyed with. The heated coals in his  
chest – the mark the demon had left on his heart – flickered like the gleam in Mephisto's eyes. Shiro subdued it. Wouldn't do to lose his temper, even  
if that callous bastard made it difficult not to…

"And what would you be willing to do, to have it back…?"

Dealing with demons never brings any good. Dealing with demons always has you paying for more than you get. Dealing with demons is the last resort  
for the ones whose hearts have been eaten empty by fear, and whose hope has fallen apart to desperation.

…and then there are the ones whose hearts have closed to desperation and fear alike.

"Anything", he said, seeing the wicked spark in the green eyes and coldly surrendering his fate to it.

"Excellent!" Said eyes shrunk to crescents above the wide grin. "No need for me to interfere, then~" He bid his farewell with a touch to the brim of his  
hat, and the white cape billowed as he turned on his heel to leave. Just like that.

"What…?" Shiro tumbled out of his detachment in sheer bewilderment.

"With the will to do anything, I'm sure you can accomplish anything", he concluded in bouncy tones, winking over his shoulder. "Not quite able to follow  
a demon's line of thought after all, are you~?"

And before Shiro could piece together a snide reply, Mephisto had poofed away.

"Wha-? You arrogant little…!" Baiting him, _baiting _him and making fun of him in such an insensitive…! "Next time, that holy water will be in your bathtub,  
Sammy!"

No response. His presence could still be felt, but nowhere close by.

"_I can't believe that lame shit was the best I could come up with_", he snorted at himself, reaching for his lighter to re-light the cigarette that had gone  
out. "_What an absolute jerk he is._" He groaned, feeling a nerve yank his eyebrow into a twitch. "Oi, you crap guardian angel!" he shouted at the  
darkening sky. "Hand my lighter back!"

No response. Shiro put the cigarette between his teeth anyway, shoved his hands into his pockets, and turned to walk back to the Academy. No demon-  
blocking practice when he was this wound-up. Mephisto wasn't done playing, no. Far from it.

* * *

_True Cross Town – a sprawling mass of life, as it were, its steady flow of humans the life-blood that filled its streets, milling in thousands to carry out  
the daily work that poured_ _nourishment into the districts and allowed for the steady breath of activity day and night… It had grown – overnight, even,  
one could say – where the_ _Academy had been built, like mycorrhiza nesting among the roots of a host tree. It supplied its host with nourishment, practice,  
goods, and students:_ _the Academy in turn provided protection, education, and payment. A mutualistic arrangement. The creation of one thing births  
another, adapted to suit_ _the needs of the first, and give rise to that intricate weft that binds together all the constituents of the world. That was merely  
one of the many ways in_ _which Assiah was… fascinating._

_Green eyes encompassed the town, now a city, through the century since its birth until the current size of it today. The dusk-lit lights at his feet_  
_outnumbered the stars in the sky, the sounds of combustion engines and electricity and voices rising and falling like an ocean. All the wonders humanity  
had amazed him with, and yet..._

_Yet, humans were the most fascinating things of all._

_And out of all the thousands of humans in True Cross Town, Fujimoto Shiro had fallen into his hands. Fujimoto Shiro, the boy that could harbour the heart_  
_of Gehenna's second strongest. A human boy with a cunning mind and a passionate heart – indeed, what an interesting toy Lady Chance had given him…_

one thing births another

_That boy had potential, potential he couldn't even begin to assess…_

to suit the needs of the first

_So many possibilities laid out before him, outnumbering_

_the lights in heaven and below…_

and give rise to a weft

_Given the right motivation, and the right guidance…_

that binds together the world

_A boy with his determination…_

and if you can fashion the weft after your own desires

_A boy with a human heart and a demon's mind…_

you can shape the world

_Lady Chance had given him an interesting toy indeed._


	60. 60: Rude awakening

**A/N: I apologise for this. Honestly. I've gone over ch 60-64 so many times my eyes bleed, and I just need to get them off my desk. I've  
looked at them so much I can't tell if it's good or bad anymore... but hopefully it's not entirely shitty...**

**Ch 65 was supposed to be included in this batch, as it's where the build-up climaxes into plot, but that... was more than my brain could**  
**take. I can't work too great amounts of text at once, 'cause I... store it all in my RAM. ^_^' Basically, I actively remember every line of**  
**text until I post it and "delete" them from working memory. I can remember five chapters or so at a time, not much more. And these**  
**were long... =_=**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Mornings – the atrocious purgatory between bliss sleep and waking, unless you have a free period. As it were, Shiro did.

Shiro was very good at sleeping, as many teenage boys are, and he enjoyed mornings like this one to an almost immoral degree. The duvet was kicked  
off just enough to allow for that delicate balance between warmth and cool to be optimal, his body was sprawled in just the right position, and he'd  
found that perfect spot on the pillow that wrapped his head in soft, fuzzy clouds. If not for the darker clouds inside his head, it would have been heaven.

There's a grey zone between sleeping and waking, and several between feeling and not feeling. Mephisto was a jerk… smart and funny and a complete  
jerk… with an annoying habit of being right… True; if you really are prepared to work your ass off to achieve something, you will most likely succeed.

Shiro heaved a sigh into his pillow as loose scenes from his endeavours drifted into each other across the lines of dream and memory. There was a grey  
zone somewhere between closing his heart entirely and closing it just enough to protect himself, and he would find that grey zone… if he ever wanted to  
function like a normal human being again… he would show that conceited demon…

Shiro had come to understand Sen in ways he wished he never had. That chilling, empty face of hers mirrored the control she exercised over her emotions,  
same thing he was learning to do… same still mask of unfeeling that he had to wear every day…

Midori… god, why was she gay…? …bouncy and cheerful as usual around him, just like she'd promised… and no matter how deep he sank into emotion-  
lessness, that hurt more than anything. His choice, his consequences; not hers…

Still… hanging with them was better than being around Shizuku and Ryuuji. Ryuuji, poor fuck… He should support him, somehow, but words always died  
halfway out of his mouth. And made things even more awkward between them. Shizuku noticed, of course. He noticed everything. He was a little like a  
fighting dog, not letting go of what he'd bitten into…

Shiro smiled giddily at the thought of Shizuku as a dog. He should be a shepherd of some sort, wandering in the wilds… larger than Mephisto, anyway…

Mephisto…

Shiro turned his mellow body over to face the wall instead of the intrusive rays of the sun, marinating himself in comfortable snoozing. It was a jolly  
hell, really. Inside the Academy, the worried glances from classmates, and the silence and pretending that gnawed his patience thin as spider web:  
outside the Academy, a host of "suitors" trying to snatch his body given even half an opportunity.

It was the most splendid irony, that there was one place where he didn't have to worry about either… Shiro reminded himself, with no hope of  
remembering it when he woke properly, to put the lighter in his blazer pocket next time he did his homework inMephisto's office: bloody old goat had  
made a habit of poofing it away if he kept it in the usual trouser pocket. "_That 'brick on legs' you're sitting on happens to be antique, and the stench  
of cigarette smoke will never go out of the cushions._" Shiro smiled behind closed eyes, recalling how the demon's barely visible eyebrows spiked  
downward like a set of inruns for ski jumping…

Such a splendid irony… that the one who'd gotten him into this mess was the only one he could be himself around…

…what if…

…he could also get him out of the mess…?

Shiro's sleepy thoughts wrapped around the idea that floated up from his subconscious and turned it over, like a monkey examining a man-made object  
it has no idea how to use. It wasn't half bad, though… Shouldn't be impossible to talk Mephisto into that, if he put his words right… "_Take the gamble;  
else you won't know if the boat sinks or floats, will you?_" He could hear him perfectly… "_You really should invest in a pyjamas, my friend._" Odd thing  
for him to say, though… "_Yare yare, Sleeping Beauty out like a candle…_" Even more… odd.

Shiro scowled and forced one eye open a sliver.

Next thing he knew, the back of his head hit the wall, and his heart was hammering his Adam's apple to mush. He had no actual idea what he'd done,  
only that the faintly glowing green eyes had been _too close_.

"Good reflexes", Mephisto observed, still leaning over the bed, and eyed the knifepoint aimed at his face with an air of calm surprise. "Sharing your bed  
must be a very interesting experience."

What was- why was he- when did…? Shiro's body might be awake, but his brain wasn't…

"Wanna do me here?"

...

_Hell no._

"I was only half awake, you idiot!" Shiro's sputtering met with hysterical laughter. "'What do you want with me?' and 'What are you doing here?' – _that's  
_what I meant to say! I just said it at the same time!" Glorious start on this day, good work: what was that he'd promised himself again, never to speak  
when he was tired…? "Wipe that grin off your face, you pervert! I wasn't awake! I didn't know what I was saying!"

"Ahahahahhaaahihihaheheheee~! Ahah-haaah, haaah…" Mephisto's shoulders still trembled with laughter as he wiped tears from his eyes. "Oh, your  
spirit is there whenever the mind is not, dear Sigmund, ahahahaaah…"

Shiro was not in the least interested in who Sigmund was, but rather interested indeed in why he had a giggling demon collapsed on his duvet.

"What are you doing in my bed?" he demanded, as he folded his switchblade together and tried to will his flustered face cool.

"What am _I _doing in your bed?" Mephisto propped himself up on his elbow, showing no intention whatsoever to leave the bed. "Shiro, Shiro, you really  
should think before you open your mouth. The question is 'what are _you _doing in your bed?' Don't you know what day it is?"

Shiro's startled heart skipped a beat, but he kept emotion from reaching his face. No, Mephisto couldn't know that, there was no way he could-

"Let's see~" Mephisto clicked open a golden pocket-watch from within his uniform. "You have three minutes and twenty-nine seconds to get dressed  
and pack." He closed the watch. "Anything else you might want to do – or want me to do – will have to wait until we have embarked the car." The  
grin on his lips obliterating any subtlety attempted, he rose to leave the room.

"You perverted old- Oi, stop, just what-" Nope: missed grabbing the hem of the cape and flailed face-first onto the floor. Wonderful. His body was no  
more awake than his brain was.

"That's three minutes and twenty-one seconds", Mephisto smiled as he courteously unfolded the glasses from the table and bent down to put them  
on Shiro's nose. "My my, you've gained some muscle since last time I saw you in this state of undress."

Shiro ignored the comment and focused on the main question:

"What am I packing for?"

"What a question! The joint meeting with the Futotsuki clan, of course!"


	61. 61: Fumbling for grey zones

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Fancy car. Didn't hold a candle to Mephisto's private one, but it did on the other hand look more professional. More "exorcistic". It was sleek and black,  
with tinted windows, and it had a separating wall between the driver's seats and the back seats. And it smelled faintly of mint and expensive after-shave.

"Hey, I was thinking…" Shiro had braided his fingers together behind his head, slouching comfortably in the large seat. "Basically everyone I know has  
figured out that we have a connection. Denying it just makes it look weird." He glanced over at the only other occupant in the car, who sat a lot more…  
correct… than he did. Though _daintily_ was probably a better word for the straight back and the effeminately crossed legs. "Isn't it about time to go  
official? Say that we know each other, make it seem less suspicious and more like ordinary friendship?"

"Ordinary?" Green eyes looked up from the latest issue of _Shoujo Friend_. "Your concept of ordinary might be a little askew, but I can assure you that  
most would not think of friendship between human and demon as anywhere near ordinary."

"Someone's gotta be first", Shiro shrugged. "You were the first demon to hold a position within the Order; why not be the first to have a human friend?"

"That took a lot of effort, mind you. A seed will not grow if sown in too harsh conditions." He did that thing again; thought so fast that the reflections  
flitted over his eyes like a flock of crows at dusk fall. "But perhaps conditions are just right… We shall allow the first meet to pass, and, if the climate  
is favourable, it might be time to sow a seed that will move the world yet another step away from the fears and phantasms of Medieval Age." Mephisto  
returned to his reading, but left one final comment for him: "Be aware, you take a gamble still. Such an announcement might worsen relations with  
your classmates rather than solve the tension."

"_Saw through that straight away, did he…?_" Shiro pondered, unable to feel properly surprised. "_Even when I close my heart off. Not that it was that  
hard to figure out, and I did leave a small crack open… still…_" His brow furrowed, and his eyes travelled idly over the forested landscape outside the  
tinted window. "_The imprint is his: what if-_"

"Sorry…?" He turned his attention back to the inside of the car.

"How did we meet?" Mephisto repeated in matter-of-factly tones, still reading his manga.

"What? I broke into your office and got a Naberius through the barrier."

"Yes, and that would make a charming story when people wonder how this peculiar friendship came to be."

"Oh. Right, now I get it." Hadn't thought about it, but they would need a more legally acceptable explanation… preferably one that actually sounded  
credible… "We could've met at the game arcade."

"Unfortunately, no."

"What's wrong with that?"

"I've been banned from the premises since 1973", he said and turned another page.

"You, banned? For what? Sexual harassment?"

"What do you think of me?" he snorted indignantly. "I was accused of feeding the machine fake coins; I couldn't very well say that I was using magic to  
run as many games of _Space Race _as I wanted."

…yeah, he could see that happen.

"You stingy old bat…" Shiro grinned, shoulders trembling with laughter. "How about we met at the race tracks, then?"

At this, Mephisto gave him a quizzical sideways glance.

"Aren't you a minor…?"

"Ah, forgot that." Didn't stop him form betting in horse races, but it wouldn't make a very good official story. "Um…" What other places did he frequent  
that Mephisto might also visit…? "Do you go to the night market?"

"Not for many years now. We could have met at a bookshop", the demon suggested.

"Uh, no. I don't usually read… that stuff." He made a half-hearted gesture at the new chapters of _Haikara-san ga Touru_ that Mephisto was engrossed  
in. "_Berusayu no Bara_ was the first manga series I ever read, actually. I've never even been to a bookshop: you're my private library, sort of…" Mephisto  
gazed at him with a look that was both aghast and astounded. "How about the cinema?" …Shiro almost punched himself. "_What am I thinking? I only  
go to the cinema on dates…_"

"Impossible: I buy all the tickets for the show when I go to the cinema."

...yes, Mephisto was good at contradictive behaviors, but that just didn't add up. At all.

"You won't pay fifty yen to play the arcades, but you pay to have a whole movie theatre to yourself…?"

"I prefer watching my films in comfort, and that was simply not had in any other way. There would always be some visitor complaining about my height,  
so I was forced to sit at the far back of the theatre. And there was no way I could bend space for my legs without anyone noticing. You people are so short,  
it's incredible. I had the railway to the Academy custom built after I rode the Tokyo Touden and couldn't even stand straight."

"Snrrrrkkukukuku…" Shiro could vividly picture how the shadow of Mephisto's curl bobbed at the centre of the projection screen, and how it vibrated in  
annoyance on a tram where he could neither stand straight up or fit himself into the small seats. It was a thing of joy. "Hearing of your tremendous  
hardships really warms my heart, you know…"

* * *

The exchange deteriorated to be less and less about likely connection points, and more and more a game of suggesting the most far-fetched places in  
which they could have met, each from their own list of references.

"We could have met at the Tokyo Takarazuka Theatre", Mephisto proposed.

"…seriously? You even want your women to look like men?"

"No, you monkey", he snorted, and launched into one of those peculiar, theatrical monologues that led Shiro to suspect that the Mephistopheles in the  
old operas were based on a real-life reference: "A woman should have the movements of a gentle breeze in cherry branches, the looks of a nymph risen  
from dreams unspoken, and the song of the sirens burning in her veins~" It made it all the more funny that Mephisto gestured like a Kabuki actor  
when he described his ideal woman. "The Takarazuka troupes accept only the most beautiful, most promising actresses in the country: the  
entertainment in their performances is twofold."

"Amen to that. And I was there because…" He didn't want to take the obvious option and say he'd been dating one of the actresses… "I was part of the  
catering crew that supplied food in the pause. I did have a catering job for a short time, until they decided to adopt a no-smoking policy for everybody  
that handled food."

"I suppose I met you after finding a cigarette butt in the bouffet and having a word with your employer."

"Oi, that's how much faith you have in me…? What actually happened was that they didn't like that I sneaked little bits to taste from the dishes. The  
no-smoking-employees thing was just something they made up to have reason enough to fire me." Shiro gave Mephisto a sideways look that was  
sheepish and impish at the same time. "After _that _they found cigarettes in the bouffet." He stretched and took a peek out the window. They had been  
driving for quite a while now. The road had begun meandering and gain altitude in a landscape that to his city eyes looked wild and exciting. "I couldn't  
afford a ticket to Takarazuka in real life, otherwise that story would've actually worked. My turn…" He folded his hands behind his head and stared  
hard at the ceiling. What was the unlikeliest place you'd ever find Mephisto…? "Okay, okay, how about this: we met at the abandoned military storage  
sheds where the motorcycle gangs meet."

"What is it that makes all human boys want to increase their odds of a premature death?" Mephisto groaned. "Right, right: I was there…" He fingered  
the chain to his exorcist badge contemplatively. "…the only reason I could possibly find myself at such a location is because I'd sensed unusual demonic  
activity. Not unlikely, given the clientele in such gangs." His gaze turned back to Shiro. "I probably met you when you almost ran me over."

"Might've tried, if I'd had a bike", Shiro admitted, snickering at the idea. "I was never really part of the gang, just hung around for the girls. Man, biker  
girls…! Not exactly gentle breezes in cherries", he grinned wolfishly, "but their fruits are sweet and bountiful." He rubbed the meagre stubble of beard on  
his chin. Hadn't had time to shave before they left, but the razor was packed with the rest of his things in the duffel on the car floor. "I was just fifteen  
or something back then; way too short and scrawny to ride a bike. Couldn't afford one, either. Now maybe I could do it, if I had the money." He chortled  
at the remembered sounds and scents that tickled recollection. "And if I hadn't stolen one of the bikers' girlfriend: wrong way to gain notoriety in those  
circles. I was lucky he got done in by the yakuza before he hunted me down. The girl was worth it, though." He whistled, indicating with his hands  
exactly what kind of fruits one could expect from a biker's chick. "Though, in retrospect, I suppose not. It could've ended really bad."

"Badly", Mephisto corrected.

"You and Shizu-san…" He didn't really like it, how his thoughts recoiled from the topic when it brushed past. "It's amazing I'm still alive, with all the  
stupid things I've done…"

"Indeed." The demon chuckled and turned a page. "I get a prickling feeling that I've accidentally done a good deed in getting you into exorcist cram  
school."

"Must feel horrible."

"You can't even imagine."

"Your dad would be ashamed of you."

"If he could feel shame, yes."

"Seriously, though…" It was so stupid, but he was so curious… He didn't want to pry, and yet he'd itched to ask ever since he found out who Mephisto  
was. "What's it like to have a dad like him?"

To his surprise, the smile on the demon's lips only grew wider.

"Of all the questions, you pick that one? Wondering why I came to Assiah, why I joined the Order, why I hide my true identity – and that is the first  
question that comes to your lips?" He turned a page with a merry chuckle. "It's like outpacing thought."

"What?" Shiro had never been the kind to spend hours pondering Zen riddles, and he was at a complete loss when faced with this one. "Yeah, smile a  
little wider; I'm not gonna ask you to explain so you can make fun of me for being a monkey." But how do you outpace a thought? What does that  
even mean…? "If you don't wanna answer, just say so."

"I did answer: it's not my problem if you don't understand it~"

So childish, that son of a…! No, don't rise to the taunt. Mephisto called him stupid? He could do stupid…

"I understand it", he claimed with a huff, measuring the amount of annoyance he let show. "You can't outpace thought 'cause it's too fast, but I can't  
see how your dad being fast is any answer to the question." It sounded like his usual piqued tone, hopefully… and just the right degree of impertinent.  
"And it's obvious that he's more powerful, too, so you can't overcome him: a kid could figure that out, so it's no answer at all." And now: a Bright Idea…  
Shiro dropped Impertinent Annoyance and dressed his face in Curious Surprise. "Oh, I see… Satan doesn't really exist, does he? He's a thought, 'the  
darkness in the human heart', so he's not an actual person but an idea; an idea fuelled by so many people it's gained shape and consciousness, like-"

The magazine was flattened onto the white-uniformed lap: Mephisto had had enough.

"I can't fathom how you can be so unbelievably-" _Click_. Yes: to Shiro, it was almost audible when thoughts clicked in Mephisto's head. "Not stupid",  
he amended at the end of the sentence, taking Shiro in with a gaze that saw more than human eyes did. "Only making yourself out to be, to rile me  
into explaining." Mephisto grinned appreciatively. "How devious of you."

Shiro raised his hands slightly in surrender.

"Worth a try", he smiled. "Annoys the hell out of you, too, so it wasn't an entirely wasted effort."

"Indeed." He picked up his magazine again and pulled a face like one smelling something foul. "There is nothing worse than stupid people: exasperating,  
and completely useless."

"Aren't stupid people easier for demons to mislead?" Shiro inquired, surprised at the statement. "Not that hard to persuade, or am I entirely on the  
wrong track?"

"A prerequisite for manipulation is that there is something to manipulate", Mephisto said with a meaningful glance. "Manoeuvring a human of average  
intellect requires choice words and subtle persuasion; manoeuvring an imbecile requires a crowbar. And more patience than any demon has."

"I think you've got pretty good patience", Shiro chuckled at the demon's choice of words. "Haven't seen any crowbar yet." At least he wasn't an idiot,  
then. Just good at acting like one. Too good, some would say… "You've already listed the questions for me, so I'll stop beating around the bush: why did  
you join the enemy's side? And no goddamn koan."*

"Enemies one can choose, but not family." Mephisto put his hand to his chest in a humble nod-bow. "Though born in Gehenna, my heart beats for  
Assiah and the human race, and all the wonders it invents on its quest for the stars~ This world has been my home for ages, a lovely and beautiful  
such: I merely do my part to keep it that way." He returned the gloved fingers to the pages of _Shoujo Friend_. "My father covets Assiah as much as I  
do, but not for the sake of humanity. What he wants to destroy, I wish to protect: that's why I joined the Order."

How grand. Words that were exactly what one could expect from Mephisto, but something between the chiming lines was jarringly off-key. Mephisto  
could _not_ be that altruistically philanthropic. If it was truth that sounded like a lie, or a lie that sounded true… A mix of both, probably. It could be true,  
for all he knew, but Mephisto had a tongue of silver. And he was Satan's son.

"And your dad just let you waltz off to Assiah to work for the exorcists? I somehow find that hard to believe."

"Choice words, Shiro~" he smiled in that supremely self-satisfied way that only he could. "I left under the pretence of being a good son and intending  
to spread chaos in the world: keep up that pretence, and I can do as I please. There is no way for father to monitor me without blowing my cover, and  
thus he can't know what I'm actually doing." The paged rustled softly under his fingers. "I've always thought it a splendid irony that his boundless  
power is exactly what makes the boundaries of Assiah impossible for him to transcend."

That… _that_, Shiro's gut told him, was closer to the truth: because if Satan couldn't enter Assiah, Mephisto would be the biggest fish in the pond. And  
that… would suit his ego just fine.

Still, so many loopholes and question marks to twist lies into truth, and vice versa… a maze worse than das Labyrint des Limbus…

"Well, good job and welcome to Assiah. Going back to business, our best shot is probably meeting at school", Shiro mused aloud, deciding that mulling  
over the replies he'd gotten was better than pushing the matter and get his head twisted into a knot.

"Maybe you just ran through the corridors, late for class, and collided with me when you turned a corner? I helped you gather up your papers and we  
started talking-"

"That sounds like a scene out of shoujo manga", Shiro observed in flat tones.

"What's wrong with that?" Mephisto had such a good Innocent Face – it was incredible, considering who he was…

"A million things, but mostly that it sounds like the kind of meeting that will end with dressing up in yukatas and holding hands while watching fireworks  
from a secluded viewpoint." Girls somehow found that very romantic. He had no idea why.

"Doesn't sound all that different from the end you had in mind just this morning~" …and in the blink of an eye, innocence was the last word you'd  
associate with that face.

"Yeah, that end…" Shiro rubbed his eyes with a groan. "Can we just agree that when I'm tired, you don't listen to a single word I say…?"

* * *

Being around Mephisto… He would never admit it out loud, but… it was sort of relaxing. He could even leave a small crack open to his heart, and it worked  
fine: Mephisto's presence seemed to keep most demons at a respectful distance.

Shiro refused to believe it was the invisible mark of the imprint in his heart. He was no more compatible with Mephisto than he was with anyone else.  
Sure, they had things in common, but they had even more differences. No, it wasn't magic or darkness that made him feel at ease around Satan's eldest.  
It was something stronger.

Secrets divide, but they can also bond. When you share something you would never share with anyone else, you place part of yourself in another's hands:  
an act of trust and respect that creates bonds stronger than steel or stone. And acceptance… to be accepted for what you are and what you've done, to  
have that respect and trust returned to you… that forges bonds solid.

None of his classmates would ever look at him again if they knew what he had done; no human would.

But a demon…

Mephisto knew what he had done, and he didn't bat an eye at the blood on Shiro's hands. He treated him the same as always, something Shiro had  
never expected he would be so grateful for; and unlike Midori's painted smile, Mephisto's was real. Full of fangs and wider than sanity and conscience  
would allow, yes, but real. The only real smile Shiro had seen in weeks.

Maybe he would never feel human around humans again; but with Mephisto, he did. He did, because it's only in contrast with bright light that you  
notice how dark the shadows are: and it's only in contrast with pitch black that you can perceive grey tones in shadow.

Like a moth unto flame…

He knew why moths fly to flame.

That flickering promise of warmth that lights the darkness, even if the vow of death comes with it… when the world turns its back on you, and every  
light is as cold and distant as the stars… the flame of hell still offers warmth.

Shiro pushed the chilling thought out of his mind with an even colder one: he'd been no saint to begin with. With or without Mephisto's interference,  
the path he'd paved for himself didn't lead skywards – and if you're going to hell, you might as well enjoy the ride. If Mephisto could make him forget  
the demons breathing down his neck, and his fate beyond the grave – even for just a moment –, then he didn't care if the bond between their hearts-

…eww.

The bond they had forged when he had lent his body to-

Uh, no.

The bond that had formed when he'd had Mephisto inside-

_No_.

"You're making strange faces, Shiro", Mephisto observed with a distrustful scowl. "Are you going to be carsick?"

"If I get sick, it's not from the car", he groaned.

* * *

A/N:

* Koan – Zen riddle, a problem designed to provoke deep thought and measure a student's progress.

Many sharp turns in this chapter, huh…? =_=' I apologize for that, but Shiro is experiencing quite the emotional rollercoaster in my head. Cling to the  
light that slips his fingers, or embrace the darkness that welcomes him with open arms…?

See, I need to somehow motivate him to become a priest in the future. ^_^' He wasn't exactly a believer the way I wrote him in the beginning, but  
with his afterlife in the balance he might want to reconsider?

…and do you recognise the "Zen riddle"? It's a small snippet from… (what, there's no translation?) …uh, _Tors färd till Utgårdaloke_. It's part of the  
_Prose Edda_ written on Iceland in the 13th century; a part where Tor, Loke, and Tjalve are challenged by giants to prove their worth. Loke's challenge  
is to eat faster than Loge, but that didn't fit my intentions very well, so I used Tjalve's challenge: sprinting faster than Huge.

Those "tests" are laced with magic, of course. No matter how fast Loke eats, he can't eat faster (or more completely) than Loge, who is fire disguised  
as a man, and whose name means Flame. No matter how fast Tjalve runs, he can't outrun Huge, whose name means Thought.

…so, any ideas on what I intend with "It's like outpacing thought" in this chapter? Both Shiro's guesses are wrong. =P And writing your guesses is the  
only way you'll get to know, I'm not writing this out in the fic…


	62. 62: Silver tongue

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

It was the kind of place that doesn't exist in reality. On postcards, yes, but not in reality. Real grass isn't that green, and real sky can't be that viciously blue.  
The lush valley cradled the community as one would a newborn, and parted its sloping walls like drawn curtains to reveal a landscape of wild forests and  
mountains tinted blue by heavy mist.

"Ah, what a beautiful day!" Mephisto looked like he would embrace the whole scenery in his outstretched arms. "A day for diplomacy to vanquish enmity  
and tie the bonds of brotherhood across the dividing chasms of ideals! Don't you agree, Shiro? …oh, marvellous. Clean, fresh mountain air, and the first  
thing you do is pollute it with your cigarettes."

"Turn your sensitive nose some other direction, princess." Shiro drew a bliss breath, and felt his stomach settle. In the end, the winding mountain roads  
did get him carsick. "It's been thirteen hours since I last had a smoke – that's like thirteen hours without arcade games, books or TV for you."

"Completely irrelevant comparison", he frowned, slinging his pink umbrella over his shoulder. He fit the environment, sort of: real umbrellas weren't  
that pink…

"Oh yeah?" Shiro grinned and retrieved his duffel from the seat. "Let's bet on that, shall we? See who can hold out longer: you without entertainment,  
or me without smokes."

Mephisto turned the umbrella slowly between his fingers, measuring him with a calculating gaze.

"If I win, you quit smoking."

"Really bugs ya, doesn't it?" Shiro smiled and trailed the winding smoke with his eyes. "And if I win…" Make him give up gaming, books and TV…? That  
was just too cruel… "You have to wear normal clothes for a week." Seeing the demon's perplexed mien, he snickered. "Need me to tell you what's  
normal…?" He gestured at himself. "Shirt, long trousers, and a suit. Single colour. No pinks or purples." And with a devilish grin, he yanked playfully  
at Mephisto's cravat. "And a plain, black tie. No polka-dots."

Mephisto's eyes narrowed, and he tugged his beloved cravat back in place.

"When we return to the Academy, the bet is on."

"Sure is."

* * *

The Futotsuki clan's village was too small to house any greater number of visitors, and it lay in rather wild terrain: for those reasons, and somebody's  
opinion of neutrality, a nearby scenic tourist resort had been selected for the meeting instead. The resort wasn't much larger than the village, in  
actuality, but it had two ryokan – one on each slope of the small valley – that would serve as lodgings.

Shiro drew a deep breath of warm summer air and had to admit that yes, it tasted much better than in the city. When Mephisto wasn't looking, he  
loosened the tie and undid the top button of his shirt. The demon had demanded that he wear the full uniform for the occasion, despite the temperature.  
Something about looking proper. Well, screw looking proper: Mother Nature dictated the terms for dress code, and today the code was "not more than  
necessary".

They were greeted by a traditionally clad elderly man surrounded by the air of ease that comes with age and experience. He didn't seem at all fazed by  
the purple hair or the pointy ears it betrayed. Then again, he might not be able to see demons.

"Welcome to our village", he said in a creaky voice, bowing with an equally creaky back. "I am Honda Shinobu, and I preside over the logistics for this  
event. We have two ryokan, as I'm sure you can see-" Shinobu cut himself short and blinked a couple of times at Shiro. "A bit warm, young man? Why,  
it certainly is. Such a beautiful day, no? Please, we can talk in the entrance hall of Kiridani Ryokan where the air conditioning is running. Odds are at  
least one of you is booked to stay there."

Shiro ignored Mephisto's less-than-pleased glares and followed. His carsickness dissipated quickly as the old man led them down the gravel road to the  
ryokan closest by. It was a beautiful, old-fashioned construction, three stories high, with artfully cut shrubs lining the paved walkway. The foyer was  
small, but cool: something others, too, had taken advantage of. There were uniformed men and women chattering in different tongues in different  
corners, some of them Western and some Japanese, and boisterous kids running around on the marble tiles and playing exorcists and demons: at least  
Shiro assumed so, since a blonde girl who caught her little brother promptly set to declaim some loud gibberish and crossing herself.

At the reception counter, they were asked for their names.

"Sir Pheles, Mephisto."

"Fujimoto Shiro."

The receptionist was very cute, which made Shiro pay enough attention to her face to notice the brief, odd look she quickly hid.

And in moments, he understood why.

"You did _what_…?"

Shiro was okay with Mephisto's preferences. He was okay with anything, as long as it didn't involve him. Didn't that sound like a simple and handy  
differentiation…? No. Because regardless who was on his menu and who wasn't, Mephisto was an incurable prankster and a pathological tease.

"I don't believe it! Of all the things you could…! You wrote me in on the guest list as your _wife_?!"

"Say it a little louder, I don't think the Venetian ambassador's interpreter caught it all", Mephisto replied pleasantly. They had assumed seats in the  
far corner, which had become vacant after one diplomat had said goodbye to his wife and kids and left to check in at the other ryokan. "I wrote you  
in as attaché, and the accommodation is divided into 'diplomatic envoys' and 'attachés'; the latter of which in this case means spouses and families."

The most devious ability in demons is not magic, nor strength or cruelty or claws: it is their figurative silver tongues. That's how they bend and twist  
reality to have exactly the shape that suits them.

"That's the whole problem: the only ones staying here are their families. I'll stand out like a sore thumb, and you know what the diplomat wives will  
do?" he seethed, feeling a vein bulge ominously at his temple. "They will sit around the playground, watch their little runts tumble in the dirt, and  
gossip about the Japanese Branch Director's _male_ _concubine_!"

"You are most welcome to share my room in the diplomats' building, if you believe that would generate less gossip", he returned with a smile so  
earnestly amicable that a person who didn't know him wouldbelieve that he really meant to help. Shiro did know him, and his willingness to help  
was as rudimentary as his drawing skills. "I don't believe I will make much use of it anyway", he mused aloud, turning the umbrella slowly with its  
tip resting on the floor. "Futotsuki territory has always been a haven for demons, and this time of year there are plenty of night-time festivities in the  
woods. It would be a nice change, after long hours in hard chairs…"

Night-time festivities: Mephisto had a silver tongue indeed. Shiro masked his laughter with a disgruntled huff. Oh, he could imagine what 'night-time  
festivities' meant: plenty of woodcut illustrations of that in old witch-hunting manuals.

"Can take the demon out of hell, but can't take hell out of the demon?" he chuckled, tipping his lighter back and forth in his fingers. "What a splendid  
hypocrite you are – and right under the noses of the Vatican representatives."

"Hypocrite? Hardly~ True to my love for Assiah and true to my nature as a demon: where, do tell, can you glean hypocrisy in that?" he asked in lilting  
tones. "When Assiah offers her treasures in such unconditioned abundance, how can anyone resist to sample her riches? Without tasting life in all its  
forms and varieties, how can anyone claim to be truly alive? No, hypocrisy belongs to the humans who pretend they don't hear the sweet song of the  
flesh, and who scorn its promises of rapture behind masks of morality." The smile on his face grew wider, like a cat stretching in the sun, and his  
voice dropped a half tone: "And while the holy preach truth to human ears, demons whisper honesty to their hearts."

Though he tried to deny it, the statement grew icicles along Shiro's spine. What he said was true, and truth… has power. _Never listen to a demon's  
deceptive words_ is the most basic rule of exorcism: the most important rule of exorcism. Kids fifteen years old learnt it. Every exorcist in True Cross  
Order knew it. And yet, at the heart of that Order, one demon's words were allowed access to the ears of exorcists and Grigori and Pope.

A demon who had sworn himself to the human side.

A demon who was the Devil's flesh and blood.

A demon so exceptionally skilled with words that he had negotiated a contract with the Pope himself.

_Never listen to a demon's deceptive words_.

Dredged from the depths of Shiro's consciousness by the chill, Midori's words added to his discomfort: 'A demon who can fool the Pope is a good liar…'

"_Good with twisting words, yeah: but a liar…? He does protect Assiah from Satan…_"

'…and a bad thing to have around.'

"_He _has _the capacity to crush the Order, won't deny that, but… he could have done that long ago, if that's what he wanted… Tch, stuck between one  
demon's words and another's._" He smiled darkly at himself. Yeah, some exorcist _he_ was… He tapped his lighter thoughtfully against his knee. Mephisto  
was good with words, alright, but there were parts of what he'd just said that didn't add up. "Fancy words aside: wouldn't you go to Court for sinful and  
unnatural conduct if you 'sampled' all varieties of Assiah's riches?"

No, the impish look on his face said.

"Indeed, some of her fruits are forbidden me, but no rule without exception: the Vatican concerns itself with human virtue, not with demons' lack of  
such~" he said with a confident smirk, winking. "As long as I pick fruit from the right tree, no Pope or priest will slap my fingers."

No, he wouldn't go to Court: and if he did, he would waltz out of there with the same smug, confident look as he had waltzed in. Such was the  
power of a demon's tongue.

* * *

Shiro stayed with the wives and the children, silently hoping that if he didn't act as if that was weird they wouldn't think it was. The hotel room he  
was given was nice. As in _really_ nice. The tatami mats rustled softly under his bare feet, and there was even a small wooden table with everything  
needed for brewing tea. He pinched the futon in the closet and found it delightfully soft, and the view beyond the shoji doors was everything you  
could wish for – he even had a balcony!

Shiro didn't bother with hanging his clothes in the wardrobe, or unpacking anything except his razor and his toothbrush. It was only an overnight  
stay – if the meeting could reach a quick conclusion, at least. He assumed that if they kept disagreeing they would keep negotiating until they did  
agree on something, but he had no actual idea of how these things worked. Or how he was supposed to contribute.

"_Role-model, eh?_" He smiled at the bathroom mirror and dabbed after-shave over his now smooth jaw line. "_We're hypocrites both, my friend._"

When he put his razor back in the duffel, he was surprised to notice the barrel of his gun sticking out under the spare underwear. Had he really packed  
that, for a diplomatic meeting…? Scowling and thinking back on the morning didn't help any; he'd been too tired and stressed and disarranged to really  
remember what he'd done. Apparently, training had hardwired him into bringing along a weapon wherever he went.

* * *

Diplomacy is an art governed by many peculiar rules, but there was one that Shiro felt he could agree completely with: never make a decision on an  
empty stomach. And so, all the participants were treated to dine out in the open, with kaiseki made exclusively from ingredients produced in the valley.  
As is customary, the host and the highest ranking sat facing each other at the centre of the table, and ranks descended out towards the ends.

Shiro was seated at the far end; one step short of being placed among the kids in the nearby restaurant. To his left was a male exorcist he didn't know.  
In front of him…

"Long time no see, Bigmouth~" she grinned, seating herself in seiza position with her arms to her sides and knowing _full well _what that did with her  
boobs. "Doin' well, eh? Must a' kicked some serious butt at exams ta get yeself a place 'ere."

"Oh, I'm doing well. I'm here as 'role-model', can you imagine?" he pulled a superficial smile, trying his best to keep his eyes on her face and his emotions  
thoroughly under control.

"Nah, I think yer here fe' decoration", Kasumi jibed, trailing invisible glasses strings from her temples with a crooked grin.

"I like your decorations better", he said, letting his gaze drop for an instant in good company with a dirty smirk.

"Hoo~ someone hasn't been gettin' any in a while, eh? Attracting a different kind a' clientele wi' that finery, I'm guessin'~?"

And that… was why you never tried to battle Kasumi. No, he had been too busy to be "gettin' any": and if you counted a certain smug demon, he  
did attract a different kind of 'clientele'.

"I've been busy", he excused himself, thankful that she at least kept her voice low so that others might not hear. "Fancy meeting you here, though.  
Representing…?"

"The middle path", Kasumi said, smiling as she put her palms together, "of understanding an' respect. Spent some time with the Futotsukis, tried ta  
sow some seeds. Tanight we'll see if it did any good. An' how the 'ell are ye' a role-model…?"

"I'm turning out to be like the Futotsuki, basically." He could say it almost without effort: no cracks in the barrier, firm and solid as a rock wall… "Human,  
but have a good hand with demons." He nodded his head slightly towards the area of the table where important people sat. "Pheles requested that I tag  
along for that reason."

Kasumi's lips formed a quite inviting o-shape.

"The pendant ain't helping, then?"

"_Shizuku's sister alright…_" He drew a stabilizing breath. "I'm not allowed to wear it. I need to temper my mind and become my own shield." He nodded  
at the centre of the table again. "His idea."

"That's harsh", she deadpanned.

"He's a demon."

"Yeah, no shit…" She leaned forward to catch a better view of Mephisto down the table, and in doing so offered Shiro a most pleasant view of her…  
decorations. "Any idea why 'e's instructing ye an' not a Futotsuki?"

"Futotsuki-sensei hasn't been at school for a month-"

"I know: 'e's sittin' over there at the clan's side o' the table. There are other members at the Academy." Shizuku's sister, down to the way her eyes lost  
their mischievous glitter and went black and hard when she meant business. "Why would 'e take special interest in you?"

"Okay, look…" He was not about to have another fight. "_Not when there's so many pines in the woods_", he smiled despite himself. "Shizu-san and I  
haven't been on speaking terms for a while. We're locked at stalemate: he wants me to say what's 'off' about me, and I have nothing to tell him, so  
he's pissed. And honestly, it's so stupid it's unbelievable…" Here goes: sink or swim… "He's worried that I'm spending so much time with Pheles. And  
Pheles takes special interest in me 'cause he's my friend. I _have _issues with demons." He met her eyes briefly, hoping to see them a little more brown  
than black. "And he wants to help me become an exorcist that can fend for himself without pendants; his methods are a little harsh at times, but he  
means well."

Kasumi blinked. Twice. Thrice. Opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"Friend…? Shiro-kun, demons don't-" She halted her tongue, and a faint wrinkle nestled between her eyebrows. The tiny pixie of a woman looked him  
up and down pensively. "Role-model…" she repeated slowly to herself. "That's what it is…? A bond between demon an' human without sealing or binding?"  
The wrinkle deepened into a scowl, and there was no impish little pixie left. "Yer walkin' thin ice there. The ways o' the Futotsuki are risky at best, but  
what yer doin' is downright crazy. _Friend_…?"

"Someone's gotta be first", he said, hope wound so tight around his nervous heart he could barely breathe. "Believe it or not, but we get along well."  
He softened his features and poured some humour into what he hoped was a convincing speech: "Unless you count the smoking: he takes my lighter  
away every time I visit his office or mansion."

"An' what does 'e make ye do…?" she asked tentatively. Still making up her mind, still unsure… "Fe' training, and fe' other stuff. What does 'e say te you?"

"He makes me block demons out by will instead of by charms." This might actually work, this might actually work…! "And he gives me reading  
recommendations, 'cause he thinks I'm an uneducated monkey. We share jokes, he corrects my grammar – Shizu-san always did that, too – and we  
talk about all sorts of things." He tried another offensive towards humour: "Ladies, for one. He enjoys watching the Takarazuka Revue, apparently. He  
can recite whole scenes from _Berusayu no Bara_ by heart – in Japanese _and _French."

Kasumi hung onto his every word, lips slightly parted in a delicious look of concentration that made concentration on Shiro's part more difficult. And yet,  
the urges of his body were eerily powerless against the iron wall that enclosed his heart. As if the body wasn't part of him at all. As if anything he felt  
towards Kasumi was not part of him. The difference one crack in the barrier could make…

"Ye sound like friends", she said slowly. "That it's never happened before doesn't mean it's impossible, I s'pose…" A thin smile touched her lips. "If  
anyone can befriend a demon, it's a swaggering big-mouth like you. S'long s'ye keep ye wits about… ye gotta promise me ye break it off if 'e starts,  
ye know", she arced an eyebrow in Mephisto's direction, "acting demon. Walkin' the middle path…" It was barely visible, but her smile stretched a  
liiiittle wider – and Shiro's breathing came a little easier. "Maybe ye're a role-model, maybe ye're an idiot." The mischievous spark flickered to life in  
her eyes. "Maybe ye'll show us an entirely different path ta walk." At the sound of a deep voice saying 'dozo', they both reached for their teacups  
and raised them in a welcoming toast. "Te you two little lovebirds", she snickered, and drank.

Being seated with Kasumi was a blessing. Never a dull moment with that mischievous tomboy; and Shiro could've sworn the exorcists on their  
respective sides scooted imperceptibly away from them as their conversation progressed. Kasumi was bold. Shameless. Impish. Absolutely lovely.

Word reached them during lunch that unrest had broken out in parts of the Futotsuki territory, and that the meeting would have to be postponed  
until tomorrow when the last envoys could cut loose. Kasumi formed part of the little team that would make the trip over there to help calm things  
down, saying she would see him again at the meeting.

"I'll help ye talk Shizzy straight", she ensured as she was preparing to leave. "I'll be headin' down that direction when the meeting's finished, so  
gimme a few days an' I'll be there."

"You could catch a ride with us", he suggested, and received that shrewd smile of hers. As if she knew something he didn't - like Midori.

"Ain't the pilgrim way, Shiro-kun. Ye walk ye' path with yer own feet, so ye know every puddle an' pebble along the way."

He had to give it a moment, but nodded at her words.

"You're so much like each other. Pilgrims that sound like scholars…"

"S' the puddles an' pebbles", she smiled, winked, and stalked after the rest of the team.

* * *

A/N:

…I had to sort this out for myself. ^_^' If Mephisto is as old-school as he is with greed, gluttony, vanity, pride, and so on, I don't think it would be  
fair to exclude lust from the party. And I seriously doubt he's been celibate during his 200 years' service in the Vatican… but how does the Vatican  
handle that? Could they actually condone that a demon sleeps around with their emblem on his chest? Not really… and that's where Diplomacy steps  
in, dragging Compromise by the hand~

So, I imagine they let him do as he pleases (with whoever he pleases), as long as he does it with demons. After all, the Order's purpose is to protect  
humans, not teach demons morality.

Pedantic Dimwit: "But demons use _human _bodies to commit their heinous acts of debau-"

*clonk*

Pragmatic Dimwit: "That one…? No no no, just some raving cuckoo from Insomniac Dimwit's department, you don't wanna listen to that~" |-3  
*hands crowbar back to Mephisto*


	63. 63: The not-date that sort of was?

**A/N: Be warned! There is a little snippet of pseudo-poetry in here that I'll give you a heads-up about; otherwise it might just look  
like really weird dialogue. It still looks like really weird dialogue, but that's because it's built on the same meter Göthe used in **_**Faust**_**.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Futotsuki-sensei had asked them to walk with him after lunch and asked – oh had he asked! The conflict had aged the poor man, but he wanted  
to know everything that had happened at the Academy since he had left. His questions were directed as much to Mephisto as to Shiro, and while  
one answered the ones concerning the state of the school and the personnel, the other filled him in on the students' progress and pranks.

"She and Midori-chan are doing fine", Shiro replied, although Futotsuki-sensei had only asked about Sen.

"Oh? Well, you are a clever young man, Fujimoto-kun, so it's no surprise you noticed my niece's affections."

Mephisto politely turned away to blow his nose. In May. With the warmth of the day still lingering in the afternoon sun. The unseasonal cold also  
seemed to have caused him some blockage in his throat. Shiro silently wished it would choke him.

"And how is the young Todo doing as teacher?"

"He is industrious."

"He's boring."

Futotsuki-sensei's countenance crinkled in merriment.

"Well, well; true both, I dare say. It takes passion to teach, and passion I'm afraid I haven't seen in that young man for years. He's a fine exorcist,  
though… I'm sorry to hear of the accident", he said in his deep, sombre voice. "Word reached us that demons had slipped through the barrier and  
that lives had been lost, but the details went missing on the way. What happened?"

"A most sad and unexpected tragedy", Mephisto said softly, seemingly more attentive of the irises that held the same colour as the fodder of his cape.  
"A group of students wilfully dismantled wards in the barrier and fell victim to the demons that got through, but thankfully they were the only ones.  
As for why they did this, I'm afraid we will never know."

Smooth words, without any hint of hesitation or conscience behind… If Shiro hadn't had his heart entirely closed, he might have felt a twinge of guilt:  
but his heart was cold and indifferent to Mephisto's lies.

"So sad, so sad." The old teacher shook his head. "And now this. Brother disowning brother, mother and daughter at each other's throats… I hope you  
can resolve this at tomorrow's meeting, Sir Pheles. It breaks my heart to see my people like this. And you know that I…" Futotsuki-sensei's voice faltered,  
and his years wore heavy on his shoulders. "If it comes to fighting between the Order and the Futotsuki, I don't know which side to take. I beg of you,  
Sir Pheles; if it comes to that, please don't order me to oppose my own people."

"There is always two sides in a battle." Mephisto's interest now lay with the small shrine snuggled against the trunk of an ages-old ginkgo. "And there  
are times when belonging to neither might cost you more than choosing one. I will not ask you to fight, Itsuhito-san: but if you do fight, you fight for me."

"Yes… Yes; thank you. Thank you for your time, Sir Pheles. I will need my strength tomorrow, so I bid you a pleasant evening. And you, Fujimoto-kun."  
He bowed, showing how far up the grey had crept from his temples, and left them on the walkway where it made a respectful bend around the ginkgo,  
as if the tree's growth had slowly forced worshippers to alter their path.

"…any idea how things will go tomorrow?" Shiro probed, following as Mephisto kept trailing the path.

"Why, isn't it more exciting to wait and see~? I have a feeling that-" His ears twitched apprehensively, and the two men turned simultaneously to find  
that Futotsuki-sensei had turned around.

"Pardon me, Fujimoto-kun, my mind has been greatly occupied lately: Sen asked me to say happy birthday from her and Midori-chan", he said with a  
gentle smile.

Shiro managed not to close his eyes and groan, thanked Futotsuki-sensei, and asked him to pass his thanks to Sen and Midori.

"Today, is it?" Mephisto hummed. "Oya oya, happy bi-"

"Once is enough", Shiro cut off, shoving his hands back in his pockets after bidding his teacher goodbye.

"What kind of person are you, who don't appreciate birthdays?" Mephisto sounded like this was not only impossible, but downright affronting. "Presents  
and games and sweets, merry times and celebration – what lacklustre mind doesn't find that enjoyable?"

"No, I like parties; I just don't like birthday parties." Rather, he didn't like his own birthday parties: several of them spent at an orphanage tend to dim  
the magic shimmer. "If you're gonna celebrate, at least celebrate something sensible. I mean, it's supposed to be some kind of achievement to be born?  
Or to grow older?"

"For you, that last one is quite the achievement."

"Tch…" He smiled crookedly up at the darkening sky. "Oh well, you're right. And here I thought going away on business would keep people from noticing…  
Well, nothing out of the ordinary anyway. A stroll at the night market is my usual way of celebrating, and this ain't far from it."

"Oh~?" Shiro tensed at his tone; mostly because anything that made Mephisto happy usually did so at the expense of his own happiness. "I know the  
perfect thing for you, then~"

"Oi, what are you-"

Mephisto poofed them both away from the gravel path and into… a forest. An old, old forest, the kind where the trees have grown bitter and selfish and  
choke life from the forest floor with their heavy branches. Only things that thrive in darkness live there, among the shed life of leaves and needles: moss  
that licks the moisture off gnarly roots, and lichens that bleed ashen eruptions on wood and rock. Despite the warmth of the season, Shiro felt a chill  
slither down his spine. Forest weren't that quiet, not in May when birds should be singing like there's no tomorrow. Though surrounded by growing  
things, the forest around him didn't feel alive.

"Can't have you going like that…" Mephisto snapped his fingers again, and Shiro's school uniform disappeared in favour of a white yukata with pink  
cherry blossoms: Mephisto's uniform was replaced with a pale pink kimono with lavish peonies. "Hmm, no." He snapped his fingers again, and Shiro  
found himself in a black yukata with red obi and bright azaleas.

"Going like what to where? Where are we?"

"Too eye-catching." Mephisto snapped his fingers a third time, and Shiro was robed in an azure yukata with cranes. "Too cold nuances." A snap and a  
poof, and this time the yukata was pale yellow with a reddish pattern of koi.

"I said 'where are we?'"

"Clashes with your eyes." Poof, and his clothes were wine red, almost mauve, with golden chrysanthemum flowers. "Too flashy."

"Oi, are you even listening?"

"Of course not."

Of course not. Shiro surrendered. It was the only thing to do when Mephisto was absorbed in something; even something as silly as playing dress-up.

Shiro's clothes stopped changing once he'd gotten into a yukata in nuances fading from deep lavender to white, with white Wisteria below the obi: but  
Mephisto kept snapping his fingers. And looked more and more annoyed.

"What's taking you so long?" he asked, absentmindedly picking his ear with his little finger.

"That hair of yours", the demon grumbled and watched, again, how Shiro's hair reverted back to its amorphous state like a released spring. "It's simply  
not emendable."

Shiro chuckled and ran a hand through the unkempt haystack on his head.

"The hair that defeated the King of Time. How's that on your record?"

"It's not hair, it's a bird's nest", he said dryly, brushing his fingers over the greyish tips in a dismissive manner. "Your constant bleaching doesn't exactly  
improve the quality of it."

"Oh, and the guy who favours the colour scheme of an eggplant should give advice on hair-care?"

There was a moment's confused silence as Mephisto pieced together the message.

"…are you implying that would I dye my hair?" he asked with a face of utter disbelief.

Shiro raised his eyebrows at him.

"Are _you _implying that _that _is your natural hair colour?"

Mephisto's eyebrows rose, too: and settled in that disgruntled inrun formation over his drooping eyes.

"That you even doubt it is offensive – of course it is! There is no way one could look this dashing unless born to it", he declared, splaying his clawed  
fingers over the chest of the kimono.

Shiro failed to choke a bout of laughter. Actually, he didn't even try.

"Oh, of course, you're a natural purplette…!"

"I am", the demon maintained in offended tones. "Look at my claws: same proteins, same colour."

He didn't really care – Mephisto might have naturally purple-greenish hair, or he might not. What mattered was his abhorred look when Shiro explained  
the dark purple claws with nail varnish.

"What an utter and unbelievable monkey you are", he frowned. "Expecting you to behave is likely a guarantee for disappointment, so if you settle for  
staying out of trouble that will do. Don't put anything in your mouth unless absolutely certain what it is, don't go saying aloud that you are an exorcist;  
and don't let slip of your focus. This will be good exercise for you."

"Then maybe you can tell me where we're going?" Shiro tugged at the yukata, which was probably one of female cut since it showed more of his legs  
than he was used to or comfortable with.

"Hyakki Yagyou~!" Mephisto announced with a beaming smile and spread his arms like a magician about to present his next performance. "The demons'  
parade! It is of earthly wonders still the strangest, and thus in equal measure craved and cursed; whether from man- or demonkin thou rangest, you'll  
find a brew to slake your thirst~ Your heart's desire shall not, I pledge, evade thee, for every soul can have its wishes' worth, the night I can most proudly  
claim to emcee; the night when heaven high", he reached up and splayed his fingers as if to pluck down a star, "is hell on earth~" The hand descended  
with a flourish to rest at his abdomen, and with a devilish smirk he bowed the way they once did at European courts. "So let's be on our way~"

"…I'm not sure I can walk", Shiro confessed bluntly, following stiffly on his geta.

"Quite the expert on ruining moods, aren't you?" Mephisto sighed, and managed to convey an impressive amount of disdain just by Looking at him.  
"My my, like a newborn deer…"

"Well, sorry, I haven't walked in heels as much as you have", he snorted, carefully navigating across the treacherous roots – though inwardly, he  
grinned. "_Always a pleasure to ruin your moods, Princess._" Still, if that was improvised verse, he had to admit that Mephisto did have a talent for-  
"…I'd rather trip and knock a tooth out, thank you very much", he said as the demon, in the spirit of a true gentleman, offered his arm for support.

* * *

Nestled securely like a secret whispered between lovers, the depression hid behind thick foliage of evergreens and lush maples, betrayed only by the  
drifting lantern lights. Once out in the open, Shiro realized it wasn't lanterns: it was onibi, thousands of them swarming like fireflies in the dusk. And  
in the pale, rippling light bloomed a strange flower indeed.

It was the dilapidated skeleton of dead dreams: it was the tangled seed of miracles holding its breath. It was as though the bones of the earth had  
broken and pushed through her skin, coaxed out of her dark flesh to draw nourishment from the hopes and nightmares of the living. Of earthly wonders  
still the strangest…

The light of the onibi melted over pillars and spikes that impaled the sky in angles askew. The soil grew winding buildings on teetering legs, and three-way  
archways with no sense of direction. Above, the air hung low with the weight of a hundred dishes cooking, a thousand voices speaking, and demon  
fireballs that chased each other amongst the banners and flower vines. All around and everywhere, from every twisted nook and crevice, the steady  
light of lanterns trickled colourful shadows of bypasses onto the streets. The lanterns were the only ordinary thing Shiro could spot there: they looked  
terribly out of place.

It was just like the night market in True Cross Town on a bustling summer evening, and nothing like it at all. Nothing… at all…

Shiro liked night markets for the anonymity: for the tranquil feeling of being just another person in the crowd, comfortably surrounded by people  
who happily minded their own business and let him mind his. That… was not going to be the case at the demons' parade.

"Greetings and welcome, your highness."

"Welcome, your highness."

"Most honoured, your highness."

…like watching the waves of the ocean still their restless caravans…

Horned heads, scaly heads, furry heads: like a rice field in the wind, they bent as demons of all shapes and kinds bowed deep before them. Conversation  
dropped to murmured greetings, and merry music from further away sung jarringly loud in the solemn atmosphere. Vendors left their stands to offer gifts,  
runners came from food carts to deliver treats, tumbling imps that chased each other underfoot came to a dead stop… and inwardly, Shiro squirmed.  
Formality had never been his cup of tea. He didn't like acting formal, and apparently he was just as uncomfortable with being acted formal towards; even  
if it wasn't actually him they were bowing to.

"_He must be used to this…_"

But as Shiro glanced at Mephisto, he was forced to take back his words. No, Mephisto wasn't used to this: he was born to this. Born and bred to be the  
Crown Prince of Gehenna; and here, amongst his own kind, everyone knew that. Here, he was royalty; and his flamboyant mannerisms looked perfectly  
normal.

"_Everything is relative, huh…_"

Still, that it could be so _very _different… His clownish flourishes didn't look clownish, his ridiculous swagger didn't look ridiculous, and his stupid,  
self-important smirk didn't look stupid.

He looked like a king.

"_Wonder what they make of me, then? Doesn't it look strange for a demon like him to show up with a human…?_"

Oh, he got an explanation quick enough. All people of royal lineage have servants; and guess who got to be porter for the braided basket with the ever-  
increasing pile of… things. Most of the offerings looked like food, some of them looked like dried roots; some of them were odd, disc-like things that  
could've been biscuits and could've been thin clam shells in strange colours.

"What are these?" he asked as they strolled leisurely among the market rows and caused demons to stop and bow.

"Oh, I like those~" Mephisto plucked the shell-like object out of his hand and ate with a satisfied purr, dangling a skewer with caramelized plums in  
his other hand. "Very tasty. Not for humans, though."

There were a lot of things labelled "not for humans". There were a lot of things Shiro didn't want to have any deeper knowledge of anyway, but some  
things he really did want to try: like Hoshi-no-Tama. It wasn't actually the kitsune's sphere you were trying to capture, but if you managed to snatch  
the ball from behind the kitsune guard before the hourglass was emptied you were granted a small wish. Many demons gave it a go, but as long as Shiro  
and Mephisto stayed to watch none even got near the prize.

A less physical game, that he actually proved to have some aptitude for, was Pea Shooting, or Tsurube-otoshi. The rules were as simple as they come:  
load the reed pipe with a dried pea, and hit the targets. The targets, however, were dropped randomly from the shadows of the stand's ceiling by the  
jorougumo who controlled it all with her webs. He left her stand with a smug smile and fairly large spindle of fine spider thread.

He felt it constantly; the demons around him. Like a barely noticeable breeze against his skin, their presences immersed him but flowed past him. And  
that "flowing past"… Tentatively, Shiro tried opening his heart a crack: just a little, just enough to feel the thrill tickling his senses. Oh yes. The demons  
didn't bother looking at him any more than they did before, and he could _feel_: feel the adventure rise like carbonic acid in his veins, feel his chest swell  
with the smells of the unknown. He was at the demons' parade, a place humans sometimes visited but seldom lived to describe, and the mere thought  
made his hairs stand delightfully on end.

* * *

"Greetings, your highness."

Greetings indeed.

Shiro had to make an effort not to let slip of his heart. Most of the demons were hideous, or looked like disfigured animals. Not this one. A harionna, a  
flytrap for human men, bowed to them; waves of her lethal hair, braided and threaded with beads for the occasion, gushed over her shoulders as she did.

"Please, accept our gift." She hefted a small girl – her daughter, from the looks of it – and lifted her up eye-level with Mephisto.

Shiro thought for an instant that she was offering him the _girl_ in accordance with some strange demon custom, until he saw the little one gently gather  
purple-green hair to the side and fasten it with a comb.

"You look very nice, your highness", she said in a voice like windblown grains of sand whispering over dunes, fidgeting shyly with the beads threaded  
into her own hair.

"So do you, little one." And to Shiro's great surprise, Mephisto plucked off one of the caramelized plums and gave to the girl. Mother and daughter bid  
him a good evening and bowed deep.

"How do I look~?" he asked as they continued their slow stroll through the market.

Oh, what to say…? Peony kimono, purple hair, a comb decorated with seashells arranged in the shape of cherry blossoms…

"Like a half-starved comfort woman", he said before he could think, and cringed. "Shit, will they lynch me for saying something like that…?"

When in Rome, do as the Romans do: and most importantly, don't go calling Caesar a prostitute. But no demon within earshot paid any mind, and  
Mephisto shook his head through a mouthful of sweets.

"A demon who can't defend his own honour has no honour to defend. Knowing that you are romantically challenged I shall assume you have a hard  
time expressing your affection in proper ways."

"Oi, are those big ears just for decora- Hold a sec, it's falling off." Shiro saved the seashell comb as it fell… and realized he was in over his head. In more  
than one way. "_Right: how the hell do you do this?_"

Because giving a hair decoration to a guy is like putting a tatting shuttle in the hands of a blacksmith.

The interesting thing about guys is that no matter what you put in their hands, they will most likely give it a try: maybe because it stings to admit  
incompetence, and maybe because incompetence itself is a quality guys are blissfully unaware of. Against better knowledge, Shiro decided to pick  
up the proverbial glove: he put the basket down, and reached up.

"It would be easier if you weren't so damn tall…" Shiro struggled to keep his balance on the wobbly toes of the geta. Would've been neat to stumble and  
fall on him now, wouldn't it? Like some clueless couple-to-be in shoujo manga… "You wearing geta is just ridiculous, you know that? You gotta be two  
meters even without them."

"One ninety-five", he corrected and leaned forward to enable him to reach. "It's custom to wear them with traditional garments; as a native, you ought to  
know."

"As a native, I can inform you that's a woman's kimono."

"I am well aware of that, actually." Seeing the look that Shiro didn't bother concealing, the demon smiled. "Male, female – what does that matter? I  
pick clothes that look good on me; an approach that would benefit you too, my friend. Winning a woman's heart is much easier if you take care to  
present yourself properly. It's a downright disgrace to neglect fine raw material, and given your general aptitude for courtship-"

"You want this in your hair or in your eye?" Shiro snorted, brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to figure out what the demon girl had done to  
fasten the comb. "_I'll be damned, it looks like he actually has that hair colour…_" Honestly, like an eggplant… "There's nothing wrong with my 'aptitude',  
I just have a knack for picking the wrong girls."

"An impressive such – ever thought of trying your luck with men instead?"

"Ever thought of trying your luck with someone as depraved as you?" he returned. "Wasn't that why you came here? There, I think I fixed it."

"This is a place for pleasures of all kinds, each with its own allure", he smiled, straightening up and biting off another crinkly plum. "Take a look around  
and see what suits your palate, birthday-boy."

* * *

Mephisto had, it would seem, tried every snack in existence at least four times.

"These are made of fermented grain, these are wild honey and crushed hazelnuts; those over there are pieces of honeycomb filled with goji berries and  
coated in ginkgo resin, and those gooseberry shortcrust tarts are extremely savoury…" He used his plum skewer to point to this-thing-and-that on the  
counter of a stand that also seemed to sell gelatinized sea slugs artfully wrapped in cobweb. "And if you are a little less of a sweet-eater, these-"

Shiro deftly pulled a caramelized plum off the skewer.

"But those are my favourites!"

"You eat all that yourself and you'll get fat", he grinned and plopped the sticky, aromatic treat into his mouth. After all, what suited his palate best was  
Mephisto's irritated face…

…ngh…

"Guaaaaah! Ah, ng-huerh ptweh oh god it _burns_!"

He breathed fire – or, it felt like he did. He couldn't tell, as the fumes that rose up from his oral cavity burnt tears from his eyes. And it didn't stop. No  
amount of swallowing, spitting, cursing or wheezing did anything to quench the inferno.

"Tsk tsk, what a mouth you've got", the demon snickered, face melting from false sulk to a mean smirk. He wasn't the only one: all around, demons  
cracked up at the sight of the human boy that was gagging and spitting. "Where's that flask of holy water you keep around~?"

Realisation hit Shiro's furiously blushing face. This was for the tea incident…? No, he _couldn't _have…

"You could _not _know I would-ng-hauhh… that I would eat that!"

He should control himself better, _had to _control himself better, but the laughing throng of demons made a vein pulse at his temple.

"Of course I could~ Know your enemy, and you can predict his actions in any given situation: predict your enemy's actions, and you can create  
situations to lead him wherever you like."

Like wagging a skewer around and asking if there was any food he would like to try, sneaky son of a…!

Shiro struggled to breathe as slowly as possible: even the gentle stream of air was oil on the fire in his throat. He could eat peppers and he could eat  
wasabi, no problem; but _that_…!

"Damn you to hell and beyond, what the fuck was that?!" he wheezed, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I believe humans call it Devil's Tongue." He twirled the skewer between his fingers with a pleasant smile. "Can't imagine why~"

* * *

**A/N:**

**Onibi**– demon fireballs.

**Obi** – the sash worn around the waist with kimonos. (yes, you probably know already)  
**  
Harionna** – a beautiful female demon with long, breathtaking hair where each hair is tipped with a barb.  
**  
Devil's Tongue** – the world's seventh hottest pepper. I've given Mephisto's cooking some thought, and I don't he's that poor a chef – at least not  
by Gehenna standards. I think he just likes extremely spicy food… Suppose you could take it for a little simile, if you like: don't make the mistake of  
trusting the sweetness of a devil's tongue, for it will burn you. =P

**Shiro's birthday** is the 10th of May. I mentioned that the meeting would be on that date in ch 46, hoping that you would have forgotten about that  
by now (_he_ had)... =P


	64. 64: The Lion, the Dance, and the Peony

**A/N: This chapter surprised me in so many ways and gave me an almost eerie feeling… In the footnotes you'll find, among other things,  
an old legend. I'm not forcing anyone to read it, but if you do, know this: I stumbled over that legend **_**after **_**I had written the chapter.  
*creeped out***

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

The music grew louder, and the bustling rivers from the streets fanned out into a delta embracing a small lake. Like a giant clam lifted from the ocean  
floor by a storm, a courtyard floated in the middle of it; brightly coloured rice paper lanterns threw their light at the reflections of the stars, and a beautiful  
arcade bridge arched its back on spindly legs from shore to courtyard. Once on it, Shiro realized it wasn't an arcade: vines and flowers had grown into a  
canopy so dense that not a single drop of rain would get through in a downpour.

"Wow, are those…?"

"Aosaginohi", Mephisto confirmed, throwing an eye at the ghostly herons that shone blue light over the still, black waters beneath the bridge. "Want  
to try eating one? I hear it makes bodily fluids glow blue for a week."

"I think I've learnt not to eat anything from this place, thank you very much."

"That I doubt: I think the matter is that you _can't _eat anything", the demon hummed merrily in his lilting cadence. "You're still crying."

"I'm not crying." Irritably, he wiped moisture from his eye with the back of his hand. "My eyeballs are sizzling in their sockets from the fumes of that  
_torture fruit_."

"Devil's Tongue", he corrected politely. "And how is _your _tongue?"

"Insensitive and black and shrivelled-up like your heart."

"Is that so~? Doesn't sound any different from usual. Quid pro quo, then~?" he snickered, glancing down at him from the corner of his eye with a  
smile that made Shiro want to dunk his head in a baptismal font.

"Like hell it is: _your _body regenerates."

"So does yours, just slower~"

"Tch, bite me…"

Mephisto's grin widened to bare pearl-white fangs, and the forest green eyes Considered.

"I know what you're thinking", Shiro said in level tones, selecting a skewer with chicken hearts to point at the smug face, "and you will get this up  
your nose if you do anything more than think."

"And you wonder why you have no luck with women, you uncivilized animal…?"

Out in the courtyard… Shiro wasn't sure what it was. It combined the slow, ritual feeling of fan dancing with the lissom, fluent grace he'd never been  
able to copy from Mephisto's swordsmanship. The dancing demons wove intricate patterns back and forth, tapping feet and claws to the music and  
making the most of their extravagantly beautiful clothing. Merry, rotund demons that Shiro realized must be tanuki formed a peculiar orchestra in a  
spectacular whelk-shell gazebo: the bamboo flutes grew bent, the shamisens' necks lengthened and shortened to accommodate the tune, furry  
bellies were used as drums, and in place of bells they jostled their big bellies to produce a muffled, jingling sound.

"No way." Shiro's eyebrows rose high as he inspected the musicians. "They really _can _use their bellies as drums?" His eyebrows came back down,  
furrowing as he tilted his head to the side. "But… I don't get how they make them ring and jingle like that. They eat rocks…?"

"Bellies are only for drumming: those aren't their bellies."

Judging from a second glance, no. Those were not bellies.

"…couldn't you just have lied and spared my brain that knowledge?" he groaned and covered his eyes with his free hand. "Now I'm stuck with images  
of Ryuuji-san that I really don't want."

"Hardly my problem~ 'The only way to get rid of temptation is to give in to it', as Wilde put it. And since it is my sole opportunity to do so, I intend  
to give in to every single one."

"And you've got plenty of bad fruit to pick from", Shiro observed, looking out over the billowing ocean of brightly-coloured fabric. "Well, go knock  
yourself out, then."

"Oh, I will~ Shall we…?"

Shiro stared at him as if asked if he'd like another Devil's Tongue. What? Did he…? No, he probably just… But he did look like…

After several minutes of confusion, clarity, new depths of bemusement, and a moment's pondering if Belial really knew what he was talking about,  
Shiro managed one stunningly eloquent sentence:

"I don't dance."

"Fufufufu, the lion roars in the face of danger but trembles at the thought of a mere dance? Aren't you sweet~" the demon snickered, eyes aglow  
with flirtatious mischief in the lantern light. "Very well, a shy flower is lovely as any other, but grows best in the shade." The tip of the now bare  
skewer landed light reproach on Shiro's nose. "Stay out of trouble, little lion. There are bigger cats than you out hunting tonight."

"_And he's one of them…_" Shiro thought. Watching Mephisto swagger out among the dancers, his lips quirked into an amused smile. "_Sure, if you've  
got a pink limo and a mansion with better view than Tokyo Tower you can walk like that. You're the King of Foppishness alright…_"

Chuckling at his bizarre friend, he shuffled over to the wooden railing that surrounded the dancing courtyard. No need to ask him to stay out of trouble:  
this was the demons' parade, and if he focused on anything else than keeping his heart closed he would become the proverbial rabbit in the fox den. Still,  
it had gone smoother than he'd thought. He felt that he was indeed immersed in demons, but none paid him any mind. Not even when he kept that  
crack open.

Shiro put the basket on the boards, slipped off the troublesome sandals and perched himself on the railing. It was a beautiful May night, couldn't deny  
that. A perfect night for going to the market – and what a market it had been…!

"_Too bad he poofed away my smokes…_"

However, among the gifts in the basket were an elegant, long-necked pipe, and dried tobacco. Shiro had already stuffed the pipe and lit it from a lantern  
when he realized it might not be human-friendly tobacco. Hadn't learnt anything, had he?

"_I hate it when he's right…_" He _did _remember the Devil's Tongue… and the tea… and he really shouldn't smoke this… but the evening called for a smoke,  
would be _perfected _by a smoke, and this seemed to be the only one he would get. With great caution, he puffed at the slender mouthpiece. "_I could be  
smoking buffalo dung for all I know. That thing completely killed off my taste buds…_"

After a while of no ill effects he concluded that demons, having the sensitive noses they had, didn't smoke real tobacco. Shiro drew a full breath, smiling  
at the tendrils that wound into the sky and bathed in colour from the lanterns. He tapped his bare foot to the beat of the belly-drums and let his  
thoughts drift with the twisting smoke. The music and the sounds of chirping frogs in the night wrapped around him like a good friend laying an arm  
around his shoulders, and he swayed slightly from side to side in the warm evening. The dancers circled back and forth hypnotically, broke pairs, formed  
new ones… they danced like Mephisto talked; smooth and fluent… flourishing, with that odd, archaic cadence that was somehow also playful…

"_Whoa…!_" Shiro grabbed onto the railing at the sudden tremor. Earthquake…? No, no one else reacted to it…

A short distance away, a couple of dancers – a blue-skinned woman with hair like the foam atop raging waves, and a half-man half-goat whose horns  
were hung with glittering jewellery – had missed the bridge and crashed into the railing beside it. They seemed too busy with each other to notice, however…

Shiro turned his eyes back to the courtyard with a slight blush, and was effectively reminded what dance really is.

Humans aren't particularly honest about themselves. They like calling dance 'culture', or 'entertainment' – or 'art', if they want to be exceptionally  
straitlaced about it. In any other animal species, 'dance' means courtship. Dance was the language of love before thought gave shape to word, the  
burning poetry of the body used to woo a partner since time immemorial. Humans may not acknowledge that, but demons do.

Shiro's gaze hit the wooden floorboards, feeling as though his intestines had been strung from his pelvis to his sternum and strummed violently  
with a pick. Sure, he knew Mephisto had a taste in men: that didn't mean he ever wanted to see him with one.

Shiro slipped back into his sandals, fumbled to pick up the basket without the yukata showing too much skin, cursing under his breath as he tried to  
expel the images from his memory. Indecent, filthy, disgusting…! Mephisto hadn't just _kissed_ a man, no; that _look _on his face as he did was debauchery  
incarnate, and how absolutely _shamelessly _he had snaked his arm around the guy's waist…!

And when they would pass over that bridge to go indulge in their perverted pleasures, Shiro did _not _want to sit nearby. He clip-clopped over the wooden  
structure as fast as the stupid geta would allow.

"_Disgusting demon…_" His cheeks were probably redder than when he'd walked in on Midori and Sen, dammit. That hadn't been half as bad. Two girls  
together was kinda… hot. This was just wrong. Horribly wrong. "_Couldn't they at least have left _before _they started… doing things like that…_" Could've  
been worse: at least they had still had clothes on… "_Though he already had the obi slung around the guy's neck…_"

* * *

Shiro strode the market streets aimlessly, caring only to be far away from anything Mephisto might be doing right now. He tried calming himself down  
by telling himself he should have expected it. He _knew _Mephisto didn't care whether he slept with women or with men. He _knew _they had gone to  
the dancing court so he could pick a bedmate. He _knew _he should be more in control of his emotions, for the demons he stalked past turned their  
heads (in case such existed) after him.

"_Exercise, dammit…_" Quell the fire, gather yourself up behind iron bars… "_It's a test, and you can't afford to fail it…_"

It was downright creepy. None of the demons had paid him any mind before, but now he felt eyes touch him wherever he went. And all his weapons  
and defences had been poofed away along with his uniform. A sitting duck. A rabbit in a fox den.

"_Relax._" Pff, quite the contradiction to what he was forcing his mind to do. "_Some of them can probably smell fear. I just have to play it cool and act as  
if I have every right in the world to be here._" He walked as casually as he possibly could, and cast glances left and right for branching paths and alleyways  
that would allow him to smoothly turn back to the lake and the safety of Mephisto's royal blood. If he was still there.

Shiro was silently cursing himself for leaving when he realised someone was addressing him: a walking treasure chest. The heavy bracelets of gold was  
the first thing that caught one's eye; second were the gems that littered the many necklaces adorning him from collarbone to waist; and third… third  
you thought he wore a skin-tight suit of copper under all the glitter, but that turned out to be his actual skin.

"May I have one?" the demon repeated, looking at him with yellow eyes as hard as the diamonds in his earlobes.

"Help yourself", he said, holding forth the basket with treats. Mephisto wouldn't notice if one or two was missing: and Shiro didn't know if a lone human  
could deny a demon anything here without getting into serious trouble.

"Where are you headed at such pace, boy?"

That was a _very _strange accent he had, but none that Shiro could place. His voice sounded… metallic. Like polished bronze. Like something smooth and  
hard and shiny.

"To the lake." Could work… maybe… "But I think I might have lost my way."

"You certainly have." A set of sharp teeth glinted in the smile. "The lake is this way." He turned towards the lake and motioned for Shiro to follow.  
"Delivering treats for the dancers, are you?"

"_He thinks I'm a delivery boy? Works as a cover, I suppose._" He righted the basket with his other hand, and followed. "Yes. I heard Prince Samael was  
there, and he's- his highness is supposed to be quite fond of sweets."

To his surprise, the demon winced. He might not have noticed, if the light hadn't jerked suddenly in all his bracelets and necklaces.

"Word has it his highness is here tonight, yes."

Hadn't thought about it before, but now that he did… 'his highness' this, 'his highness' that, 'his highness the Crown Prince'… Behind the bars of Shiro's  
closed heart, curiosity stirred.

"I'm not that familiar with demon customs, but is it wrong to call somebody royal by name?"

"There is nothing wrong at all in addressing members of the royal family by name, so long as proper respect is shown", the sleek metal-voice said. "We  
do, however, seldom call the Crown Prince by name."

"'cause he's Crown Prince, or…?"

"An inquisitive mind you have~ Alas, I am a child in comparison to the age of that custom, and I know not its origins. I only know that one does not  
speak his highness' name aloud." His large lips pulled into a thin smile. "You have a keen interest in the ways of demons, yes? I can teach you all you  
want to know."

Had Shiro's attention not been occupied by how the onibi light gave the demon's copper skin the sheen of real copper, he might have noticed the  
hungry gleam in the diamond eyes.

"That's nice, but I think I'll pa- decline. I'm just a temporary visitor here, I'll be leaving soon." He steeled his heart a little more, just to be safe if that  
statement didn't go down well…

"Why~? You are young, and so is the night – it might be once a month for us, but once in a lifetime for you. Could you really let such an opportunity slip…?"

He felt it skirt his defences, tease his heart with touches that couldn't quite reach. Not that it needed to reach. He was unarmed. Easy prey.

"_Dammit, why did I walk off?_" Stall, that was the only thing he could do: stall until they reached the lake. It shouldn't be far now. Mephisto _had_ to be  
there; the demon would never believe him if he said he was Prince Samael's friend… "Well, we've got time until I get to the dance." Some question, any  
question off the top of his head… "Why is it that demons don't care whether it's men or women they sleep with?" Great. Great question. "_Good job, self…_"

It wasn't that far-fetched an association, but it wasn't a topic he wanted to discuss with any other demon than Mephisto. You never knew whose menu  
you were on.

"It is in the very core of every body to want another: it needs not the mind's opinion of gender, or the laws imposed by man." Metallic words,  
seductive words: words that curled around his neck like the coils of a boa… "It cares only for the touch of living flesh… and the sweet surge when life  
departs it at the highest moment…"

Shit, the demon was leaning in, pulling him by the obi…!

"I think that's all the information I need: no practical demonstrations, thank you. Oi...!"

Out of the folds of time, a slender, towering shape appeared behind the demon.

"I believe you have something that's mine~?"

...and though it was the other demon he should have been afraid of, it was Mephisto that made Shiro's skin crawl. Perfectly polite and perfectly  
menacing: that was the same tone he had used when he told him of the imprint. The copper-skinned demon became, for an instant, stiff and  
unliving as a temple statue.

"A thousand apologies, your highness", he said, bowing to him. "I did not know he belonged to your highness, else I would never have approached him."

"I trust not." He gave Shiro a heavy-lidded gaze up and down. "It would seem no harm has befallen him: quid… pro… quo~" he told the demon softly,  
wearing a smile that was thin and sharp as an assassin's poison needle.

"Thank you, you highness", the demon said with the quivering trace of a scrape in his metallic voice, and left hurriedly. When he did, Shiro blinked  
dizzily as orientation he didn't know he'd lost spun back in gear. They hadn't been headed for the lake, that was just illusion. They had been headed  
someplace entirely different.

"…what the hell?" Shiro grimaced, though inwardly he breathed a sigh of relief. "_Yours? _I'm not your pet, you know."

"Whose would you rather be, then~?" he inquired sweetly, tilting his head to the side with a honeyed smile. "That grootslang's? The daitengu's? Take  
your pick: there are plenty here who would be happy to claim a human without master."

Shiro got the hint: demon society, demon rules. Didn't make it any easier to squeeze out a 'fine'.

"But it's only tonight", he pointed out as they strolled side-by-side back to the lake, to watch the grand finale of the parade. "And only because it's  
necessa- just _what _do you think you're doing?" he snapped when Mephisto's thin arm snaked around his waist.

"Making sure other demons don't make the same mistake." He glanced down at him with a smirk that made no secret of how much he was enjoying  
this. "In your own words: tonight, you're mine~"

Shiro's face pulled in all possible directions. Oh, he could see the sense in it, the _logic _in it; and he saw exactly how Mephisto twisted that to his advantage.

"You make that sound so wrong I don't even know where to start…"

"You can start with not tripping over your own feet. It's very inelegant."

Mephisto's disturbance did make Shiro even more unsteady on the geta. He cursed under his breath and tried not to reflect on the situation. Tried not  
to remember that the last guy Mephisto had slipped his arm around had been virtually undressed on the spot. And speaking of _slipping_…

"If your hand goes any further down form where it is, I swear I'll make you tie that kimono right over left", he ground out, eyebrow twitching as he  
did his best to look straight ahead and pretend he wasn't the least uncomfortable. Not uncomfortable at all.

"If you insist~"

A ripple buzzed through Shiro's spine as Mephisto's clawed fingers secured themselves more firmly onto his hip.

"Oh, yeah, _that's _what I insisted on. Honestly, didn't you get enough at the dancing court, you pervert…?"

"The first rule of demons is that one can never have enough", Mephisto winked with a grin. "Relax, Shiro – you'll have worry lines before you hit thirty!"

"Yeah…" He rubbed his forehead, attempting to smooth out his brow. "It was a tense walk, that. You're right: for me it's an achievement to grow older.  
It's a miracle if I reach thirty at all."

"Miracle might not be the proper word, with a guardian angel like me…"

Mephisto's chuckle infected Shiro; he tried to stifle a bout of laughter, but didn't succeed very well. The idea was just too… silly.

"Mfufufufu, oh yes, that's gotta be the crappiest manga title ever: Guardian Angel Sammy…"

Mephisto made a… _noise _that was best described as a dog grumbling because it can't reach an itch.

"I told you not to use that nickname."

"I never do as I'm told, remember? And right now, I'm being showcased as your toy boy", he said in a voice reeking of insincere pleasantness. "That  
permits me to use any dirty tricks I can think of."

"Hm~ maybe I should print _that_ on your ID-card, then?" Mephisto smirked, eyes lighting up with the idea. "Lower Second Class Toy Boy. Has quite  
the ring to it."

"Pffwahahahahahhaaa~ the ring of cheap brothels in the shabbiest pleasure districts!" Oh, that was so good… so ridiculous, so typically him… "Oh god,  
Lower Second Class Toy Boy…! Ahaha-haah-haah do that and I'll shoot you, I swear!"

"Then I will demote you", the demon frowned. "Lower Third Class Toy Boy. With restricted access to firearms."

"Pff, sure: then I'll address my reports to Sir Sammy Cuddle-bun."

Mephisto hid his pained expression well, but Shiro felt him shudder through the hand on his hip.

They made an odd pair, yes. Unlikely and unexpected, yes. That was the beauty of it.

Where two worlds collide, there is an infinitesimal sliver of infinite possibilities that allows for all that both hold unlikely to occur. Where two opposites  
meet, anything that could be expected is nullified when they unexpectedly find likeness. Where light meets darkness, there is a grey zone for the ones  
who would attempt to walk a middle path that nobody has walked before.

* * *

The area was crowded long before they reached the lake. The particular street they had chosen was blocked by huge, red-skinned oni cloaked in the  
pungent smell of rotting leather. Shiro expected them to move aside for Mephisto, and was startled when the latter pulled him close as if to-

*poof*

"Whoa-!"

He hadn't _meant _to grab onto Mephisto… but when you suddenly find yourself a hundred feet up in the air, you aren't picky as long as you can hold  
onto something solid.

"If your hand goes any further down from where it is", the demon grinned, using Shiro's words, "I will make you tie that yukata… looser~"

They sat on a divan from the murkiest nightmares of fashion, furnished with plush striped cushions. Oh well, Mephisto sat on it; Shiro sat in his lap,  
more or less. With one hand around the basket and the other at the small of the demon's back.

"And I will dump a basket of food over your head", Shiro politely informed him. He'd done that on purpose, that was for certain: Shiro vividly recalled  
when Mephisto had _misinterpreted _him in the infirmary while he was tying his bow. Shiro cautiously slid himself down on the divan, not really happy  
with how far he would have to fall to hit the ground. "We're watching the show from here?" he asked, stealing a distrustful glance downward and  
concluding that they hovered above the crowd around the lake. They wouldn't see much of the performance from here.

"The only proper way to watch anything is in comfort, from the best seat", he snapped his fingers and produced several tiered serving trays loaded with  
biscuits and pastries, "with snacks." He leaned into his cushion with a content look as he selected a bite-sized slice of strawberry cheesecake; and a  
familiar screeching, hissing noise shot through the air.

The first firework threw cascades of red light over them, and Shiro burst out laughing. Crossfire shot up from all sides of the lake and echoed through  
the silent forest, and Shiro laughed through it all: hearty, unrestrained laughter that shook his body free of tension and heavy thoughts.

"Oh, you did it, you sneaky bastard…! Hahahaha…!" He ran his fingers through his messy hair and grinned incredulously at the red, blue, white, and  
golden sparks that devoured the night around them. "You actually did it… yukatas and fireworks and a secluded viewpoint…" He shot a glare at the demon  
next to him, but couldn't clear the smile entirely off his face. "You can forget that I'd hold your hand, though."

"How unromantic…" Mephisto pulled a face, but there was a smile tugging his lips as he licked cheesecake off his fingers.

"I thought we'd established that already; if you're looking for romance, you've got the wrong guy." Shiro peered over the edge of the divan. "And I  
think I might have accidentally knocked somebody out with my geta", he laughed softly, wiggling his remaining sandal with his toes.

"A most unusual way to make someone fall for you", Mephisto observed with a downwards glance, "but then again you do have your own unique way  
of showing affection, Cinderella."

"And I was Sleeping Beauty earlier…? Yeah, I was awake. A little. Seriously though, who's the princess here?"

"Why, I am obviously the Prince", Mephisto snickered, and a bright shower of sparks lit his eyes from green to gold. "That leaves you to be the princess."

"Fancy clothes, and shoes for the ball? No, you're my fairy godmother", he teased back. "Goes great with your big, pointy ears."

"I don't have big ears." Said ears pulled down as if to underline the statement. "They are proportional to the rest of me."

"Proportional to your oversized ego", Shiro chuckled under his breath, leaning back against his cushion to enjoy the show.

"I heard that."

"Big ears, good hearing."

"I don't have big ears!"

The night exploded around them, veiled in acrid mist and flashing light, and the clipped tunes from the tanuki orchestra chased the trails of smoke  
up to their front-row seat.

"I think this is the best birthday I've had", Shiro murmured through a soft smile. Didn't matter if Mephisto's ears were good enough to pick it up or not.  
It was still true.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Grootslang **– mythological giant snake in Angola, supposed to eat elephants and covet precious stones.

**Belly-drumming and other tanuki musical talents  
**It's almost common knowledge, I think, that older tanuki can use their bellies as drums. The "bells" I'm not sure about, but I found this nice little  
Japanese song to base that on:

Tan Tan Tanuki no kintama wa,  
Kaze mo nai no ni,  
Bura bura

Translates as:

Tan Tan Tan ring the Tanuki's balls,  
Even when the wind stops blowing,  
They swing away

I just don't get that country's culture sometimes… xD

**Tying a kimono**  
What's fascinated me for a while is the tremendous significance of merely tying your clothes together. Folding the kimono's front left side over right  
is standard: the only time you fold it right side over left is when you dress a body for a funeral.

**Legends and stories**  
In traditional Japanese art, the lion is often depicted with peonies. Why?

An old legend from Katherine M. Ball's _Animal Motifs in Asian Art_:

_A priest, Shakkyo, while on a journey to Wu-t'ai-Shan in search of knowledge, was about to cross a stone bridge when a youth carrying fire-wood  
approached him and warned him not to proceed, as the country beyond was infested with lions which would devour him unless he was protected  
by spiritual power. As the priest was deliberating upon this information the place suddenly became fragrant and the air rang with beautiful music,  
while the youth revealed himself as Monju Bosatsu [a disciple of Buddha]. Then simultaneously, a lion came from the forest and, circling about a  
growing peony flower, danced for the edification of the priest._

There's also an old ghost story called _Botan Dourou_(The Peony Lantern) that you can, with a little squinting, apply to this chapter.

_In the shortest version possible, a man sees a beautiful woman accompanied by a young girl holding a peony lantern walk past his house at night.  
He falls in love, and invites the woman to his house. She returns every night and leaves before dawn every day, and the man grows increasingly  
weaker. A suspicious neighbour peeks in on the pair one night, and since he is not under the spell, he sees that the woman is a skeleton: a ghost,  
leeching off the life of the man by seducing him. The neighbour warns him, and helps put up wards around the house when the man realises his  
life is in danger. The woman can't enter, but calls out to him from outside the house. Against better knowledge, overcome by his passion, he goes  
to her and follows her "home". The next morning, his body is found intertwined with the skeleton in her grave chamber._

**Flower language**  
The peony: king of flowers, wealth, elegance, honour, love, and good fortune in romance/marriage – something Mephisto needs with such a romantically  
challenged young man as Shiro…? =P The peony is also traditionally used for protection against evil spirits – which I suppose fits, in a twisted way. X)

The Wisteria (only the select pieces that apply here): patience, endurance, exploration, creative expansion.

**Concerning names  
**Names always have significance one way or the other in manga. I'm giving Shiro's a lot of attention, but it's harder with Samael since that has an  
entire mythology attached to it. Still: patching it together as best I can here. ^_^' Remember how Amaimon never calls him anything except aniue  
in anime and manga? In all likelihood, that is to hide the fact that his real name is Samael from the viewers/readers. But if we disregard ourselves  
and think of the logic of that _inside_ the story, you can play with it in interesting ways. I can think of a few reasons why other demons wouldn't want  
to use his name…


	65. 65: Brothers

**A/N: Seeing as school will be more demanding this semester, I won't update as often as before, and not as many chapters at a time.  
Sorry. ^_^' Now, there's been a lot of fanart of my work rattling in lately, and I put the links up in the chapters they apply to; but  
if you don't find them or they don't work, there's a complete "hall of fame" on my author profile (which doesn't butcher links, O Glory~!).  
If you do go take a look, make sure you're nice to the artists. (They don't bite: I suspect they would have bitten me already if they did.)**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

…Jesus. How many hours of sleep had he gotten…? By the time Mephisto had dropped him off at Kiridani Ryokan he'd been just awake enough to tell  
the toothbrush from the razor: when he woke to the blearing of a heartless alarm clock some time later, he came as far as squeezing toothpaste over  
the razor blade before he realised he'd gotten the wrong article.

* * *

"What's this slovenly appearance?" Mephisto frowned disapprovingly, hands on his hips, as Shiro came shuffling towards the meeting hall. "You are  
attending a conference of great importance, and representing your school: some manners, if I may!"

Shiro fished the rolled-up tie out of his pocket with a facial expression that made words superfluous. Mephisto had poofed the uniform to his room  
the night before, in a neatly folded stack that ruined Shiro's use-and-re-use knot. The demon cocked an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Nineteen years of age, and you still don't know how to do a tie?" He plucked the garment out of Shiro's hand, tugged the collar up, and slung it  
around his neck. "You're lucky I had plenty of practice on my younger brothers."

"Playing dress-up on them instead of dolls, Princess…?" Shiro smiled sweetly.

"Only Iblis", he replied blithely, gloved fingers deftly working the tie into a knot. "He had such great lines, looked good in anything you put him in."

"Pfffnnhehehehe don't do this to me…! I'm attending a meeting with just two hours of sleep, you're only making it worse…!" Shiro covered his  
face with his hand, shaking with unhinged laughter. He was tired alright. Just imagining Mephisto with a pair of curling tongs… "Man, I'm glad I'm not  
your brother…"

"So am I."

"What, I wouldn't make a good prince?"

"I have _seven _brothers", Mephisto emphasized. "_Younger _brothers."

"Well, I have zero brothers, so I don't know what I'm missing."

"Two centuries of teaching Astaroth table manners. Fifty years' vain attempts to get Amaimon to stop biting his claws. And so on and so forth. I don't  
want to think of how long it would take to make you quit smoking." Mephisto smoothed the collar down over the tie. "And cursing." He adjusted the  
tie and tucked the narrow end in the hoop. "And picking your ears!" he grumbled with a pained grimace.

…Shiro felt the tiniest twinge of regret that he wasn't Mephisto's brother.

**A/N: Seven younger brothers? Seen Rin in ch 39 of AnE? 'nuf said. ;P**


	66. 66: Disaster

**A/N: Credit for the cuteness in this chapter goes to Pheles-chan, and credit for tormenting one of the main characters is on Zeitdieb. ;3  
What have I contributed, really...? ^_^' General musings around AnE-verse, I think... Oh well, I contribute with my dog, Tott. Because I  
really think Shiro should like dogs.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Disaster.

Shiro shed each piece of clothing with a heavy sigh.

Not a natural disaster that strikes without warning, indiscriminate in its fierceness and adhering to the laws of chaos alone, no: a human disaster. A  
disaster that creeps up on you in orderly fashion, hiding its destructive nature in the guise of good intentions. Slower by comparison, but just as  
devastating.

* * *

_"We come from different traditions, but have worked side by side for long years: what made that possible, is respect. Respect allowed us to each lay  
half the distance behind, and join hands at the middle. Thus, we do not say 'an exorcist should not do his work': we say 'an exorcist's work can be  
done many ways'. When you evict humans from a place they have no right to stay in, you do not do so by shooting them down like dogs. Instead,  
you speak to them. You explain why they cannot stay, and offer them another place to live. The same can be done with demons. The Order of the  
True Cross promotes peace, and the way to peace need not be paved with bodies. Peace means no bloodshed; on either side."_

_The speaker for the Futotsuki, seated second from the middle of the table, nodded a small bow: the murmurs of interpreters kept droning a few  
seconds after he had silenced. Shiro nodded, too, and fought to keep his eyes from closing._

_"Respect is important to all of us", he listened in from an interpreter translating Italian into Japanese. "Respect is the very foundation we build  
cooperation and brotherhood on. Respect, loyalty, and faith are what ties us together against the troops Gehenna sends to Assiah. It is an attack,  
and it is the purpose of the Order of the True Cross to protect. The Order wants peace, as you say; and in war, the price for peace is paid in blood.  
If we were to capture and relocate demons, that price would be paid in human blood: that is not, and never will be, an option for the Order of the  
True Cross."_

_"For troops, one raises arms to protect: for visitors, one raises a cup of greeting, as we have done for you. Many demons come here are not troops but  
visitors, and what we fight are the merely shadows of our own fear and ignorance. Demons are curious explorers, knowing nothing of our world and  
our ways; and like children, they do not know right and wrong without explanation. But they are quick studies, and with time and exposure to human  
culture they can become valuable allies: the Futotsuki have seen generation upon generation prove this true. You can hardly contest my words, sirs;  
seeing as you have living evidence of the truth in them seated in your midst."  
_

* * *

He slipped the tie over his head, keeping the knot for future use. The Futotsuki had addressed Mephisto often, one way or the other, hoping for support  
for their cause. He hadn't let them down – neither had he supported them. It was hard to tell what he _had _done, when you were that tired and didn't  
quite follow his billowing cadence…_  
_

* * *

_"You speak like a true Futotsuki, Hiroshi-san, and that I say as a compliment. If ever there were a link between Assiah and Gehenna that made service  
like mine possible, it is you and your clansmen. It is true that I hold a most unique station within the Order; and yet, it is equally true that a familiar  
will turn against a tamer that loses his confidence. It is so because demon society is based on one rule, and one rule alone: might makes right. Demons  
either obey, or command. It's a crude rule to base an entire world on, but an effective such: the ones of power command, the ones of lesser power obey.  
The only way for demons and humans to coexist would be to bind every demon in Assiah to a human – and I fear there are simply too few humans  
strong enough of heart for that. Demons that are bound can serve the interests of the Order, as I do: but the ones that are not must be viewed as  
enemies. I will remind you: demons either command or obey; and if they do not obey the Order, they obey Satan."  
_

* * *

Shiro folded his shirt, trousers, underwear, and uniform jacket and stacked them in the locker. The tie was placed on top together with his socks.

The disaster had gained momentum, like an avalanche. Human disasters are strange that way: humans create them, and they can stop them, but  
they don't. They just don't. Ironic as it was, the only one in the discussion that had maintained civilized behaviour was the one that was not human._  
_

* * *

_"They are capable of thinking and speaking like humans: all we ask is that they are treated accordingly. Even you must see, they are not animals!"_

_"If they were animals, there wouldn't be need for an organization to battle them. They are intelligent, I'll give you that, but they're creatures of evil  
with only two things in mind: corrupt and destroy. To liken them to humans is-"_

_"Is something you have never been willing to look away from your doctrine and admit. Demons have lived in these lands for thousands of years: they  
have half-human children here, and children's children. The mere fact that we can interbreed with them shows how close our species are! The methods  
you promote are equal to genoci-"_

_"You _dare _speak such blasphemy as to equal demons with humans! If they can interbreed with humans it's because the Devil made them a mockery  
image of the Lord's creation, to ruin it from the very core by defiling the seed of-"_

_"Gentlemen, gentlemen~ I believe I must once again intervene to clarify: demons and humans are not_ _related, in any way. That we can bear and sire  
children in Assiah is possible only because we borrow bodies of Assian birth. Our presence alters the body, and its seed and eggs; any child conceived  
with such a body will be altered also. It is not the topic of our discussion whether or not we are related, however, but why we come in contact at all.  
Demons have indeed lived in Assiah for millennia; peacefully, one might even go as far as saying, but peace is not the intention of the one that sends  
them. Conquest requires no troops or weapons other than time. With time, humans grow used to the presence of demons; with time, demons grow  
in number, and grow to consider this land theirs. Demons are territorial, as you know, and they do not take kindly to beings, human or demon, that  
trespass on their grounds. It is therefore vital – _essential_, even – that humans do not tolerate demons on their land. I speak foremost of cities, villages,  
and places humans frequent: forests and mountains we lack the means to cover either way, and to hunt demons there is entirely unnecessary unless  
they are aggressive and prone to assailing humans. What the Order does, in essence, is to implement the very same rule demons have always adhered  
to: might makes right. It is the same rule you make use of in your bonding with your familiars, is it not?"  
_

* * *

Lastly, Shiro put away his glasses, scrubbed himself off in the washing area, and grabbed a towel. Gods knew he needed this: there would be another  
meeting tomorrow, and it would be just as bad as this one.

Towel on head, he made for the natural hot spring that had been annexed to the ryokan as its own building. A bliss sigh ghosted into the steam as he  
lowered himself into the water. Nothing like a hot bath to ease the stiffness out of the body.

Shiro enjoyed the onsen almost as much as he enjoyed sleeping. The one advantage of sharing accommodation with all the wives and kids? He could  
have the men's section virtually to himself. Just lean back, arms comfortably spread over the edge of the natural pool… Shiro's attention lingered lazily  
on the seductive dance of the steam rivulets – white and winding, licking over the water without tickling its surface – and was reminded of the demons  
last night. What a birthday that had been… pebbles and puddles… there's no avoiding inconveniencies on life's path, so you might as well learn from them…

He sat. Nothing more, just sat: that is the greatest luxury a human being can have. He dozed slowly; nothing moved, as if time stood still… and that  
was the only reason he noticed the small waves lapping at his chest. Shiro strained his myopic eyes but saw no one – only a very dense swirl of steam  
that hovered close to the surfa-

"What are you doing here?!" He hurriedly pulled down the towel to wrap it around his hips. Yes, it got soaked. That didn't really matter at the moment.  
"They have an onsen back at your ryokan, too!"

"Yes, and it's full of diplomats and exorcists", the white dog pointed out as it swam over to him. "A lot less crowded here."

"…and because there's so much space, you sit in my lap?"

"It's the perfect height when I'm in dog-form", he said and plopped his little body down on the submerged towel, which left only his head above the  
surface. "Ah~ nothing like a hot bath to ease the stiffness out of the body…" His ears drooped pleasantly along with his eyelids.

…and there was something in the whole _aura _of contentment around him that simply could not go unpunished.

"Get yourself some other seat." He rose sharply, and the detestably smug little dog plummeted underwater with a yelp. "I doubt dogs are even allowed  
in-fwehehehahahaa!"

Mephisto had a rather… _flat_… frame as a man, and he gained no extra weight as a dog: all his cuddly softness was fur. _Dry_ fur. And the _look _the  
miserable little creature gave him, after crawling up on the floor tiles…

"Snrrrkahahahaha you should see yourself ahaahahahaahaa…!"

"I _know _what I look like, _thank you_", he grumbled, and waited until Shiro was within range before he shook water out of his fur. "Such a rude way of-  
no, that's mine!"

"You got my towel wet", Shiro pointed out, wiping his neck and torso with the one Mephisto had left on a rock.

"You have no manners at all – dumping me in the water and then taking my towel! I'm a _king_, you know! The least you could do is dry me!"

"Not coming off as very royal in that condition", he grinned at the fuming little swab. "Didn't you just shake?"

"And do I look dry to you?" he huffed, and the sight of the dripping moustaches blowing outwards sent Shiro into another laughing fit.

…ah, _yes_…

"Right, right: I'll dry you, your highness", he said, carefully considering if it was worth it or not. It was, of course. He was tired: works wonders on  
judgement. "I'll catch hell for it later if I don't." And hell two times over for what he was about to do…

Shiro folded himself down on his knees and wrapped the still fairly dry towel around Mephisto…

…and cracked a devil's grin.

"No escaping now, your highness~"

"Nghah! St-t-t-top-p tha-a-at! It g-goes a-g-g-ain-n-st-t-t th-the g-grain, you m-mong-g-grel!"

"Don't you worry, I'll make a fine little cotton-wad out of you~" Shiro snickered maliciously as he rubbed the dog roughly in all the wrong directions.  
Mephisto put up a most undignified fight, whining and squirming and kicking until he almost got away. "No you don't – you're not dry yet!" Shiro  
dove after him, caught the struggling little body around the midriff, and lifted him off the floor for a better- "What was that…?" The grin disappeared,  
only to grow back with ten times more devilry glinting off it when he realised what _that _had been. "I don't believe it…!"

"It was nothing! Let me g-nnnhihihihihihiiihahahahaaaaa!"

Oh no~ When you find out that the King of Time, the most powerful demon in the history of Assiah, is _ticklish_… you do not let go.

"Ahahahahaha-ah-ah-nnnh-ihihihihihii st-stop!"

"Oh, you've got better manners than that, your highness~ How about a 'please'…?" This was just too good to be true. The furry little body twisted like  
crazy in his lap, legs kicking the air and tears – tears? could dogs even cry? – trickling into the already damp fur.

"Nh-ahahahehehhehehee-I can't ah-ah-nhahahahahaa-_stop _or I will…!"

*poof*

The dog in his lap grew _a lot _heavier. And the pink smoke bought Shiro just enough time to realize that the chest he hugged was furless. And naked.

"Okay, I won't tickle you", he said hurriedly and yanked his hands away, eyes squeezed shut and cheeks red-hot. "Just turn back into the dog."

"So you can continue your assaults? No thank you."

No; no, no, _no_ – _anyone _could come in at _any _time and find them in a situation that would hardly qualify their relation as _friendship_…!

"Come on, Mephisto, don't do this to me…!" Shiro groaned. "_He is not_ _doing this, that cheeky son of a bitch, he is _not _playing hard to get _now _of all  
times…!_" He should at least push him off his lap, but he didn't really dare… touch him… without seeing what he touched…

"Me, do anything to you?" said the affronted voice in the darkness outside his eyelids. Oh yes; he was playing hard to get. Probably with a grin three  
miles wide. "_You _are the perpetrator here. My hair is a mess. And it's _wet_. Do you have any idea how bothersome it is to untangle when it's-"

"Fuck's sake, I'll make it up to you: just turn back _now_!"

*poof*

The little dog was back in his lap…

"You've _got _to be kidding me."

…with a hair brush between its teeth.

* * *

Shiro had never had a pet, or hair long enough to need a brush. It wasn't rocket science, using one, but he wasn't exactly… skillful. Initially, yelps and  
accusing glares were his sole reward for mending the tangles, but after a while… after a while, Shiro had found a whole new motivation for the task.

Demons were truly fascinating, in their many unexpected ways. Pleasure-seekers that pay no attention to who or what they damage in search of what  
they want, yes: but when sated… no one ever mentions how peaceful they can be when satisfied. No one ever mentions how they can become soft and  
warm under your hands, and how their little paws stretch lazily with contentment.

"_Wonder what Kohu-sensei would say…?_" he smiled to himself, rhythmically running the brush through the white fur. "_If I said I'd made the King of  
Time purr in my lap…?_"

Yes, Mephisto purred. Not like a cat, or a dog, or anything this side of the dimensional barriers, but it was clearly a satisfied rumbling that rose from his  
throat. And occasionally, so did other sounds:

"Mmnnnh~ yes~"

"Jesus, don't say that…" he grimaced, halting the brush halfway down his back. "At least don't _sound _like that. It's disgusting."

"Give me more, Shiro~"

Every muscle in his body convulsed at once. He _knew _he was being baited… but damn it's hard to resist when you're baited by such a silver tongue…

"Chris'sake, you're a _dog_! Do you have any idea how disturbing it is to hear things like that from a dog?!"

"You'd rather hear it from me in human form~?" the awful little creature suggested: Shiro's face heated up all the way out to the tips of his ears.

"No: _thank you _for giving me nightmares for the rest of my life."

"You even dream of me? Shiro Shiro, is there something you're not telling me~?"

"Yeah: if you wanna get brushed, shut up." On second thought… "Or else I'll toss you in the cold pool", he added, casting a glance at the fuzzy shape  
of the tiled pool in the corner.

"Such a brute", the dog huffed with a dismissive flick of the little tail. "Toss _me _in the pool for images _your_ mind wove – my word! Delve and dissect  
and deduce the world without, but dare not look within: even in this day and age, humans blame their faults on demons."

"And even in this day and age, demons blame theirs on humans." Shiro captured a tangle that had hidden itself by Mephisto's elbow and set to work  
on it. "Weaving looms weave according to the patterns they're fed. You know what the human mind wants; all you need to do is feed it the right words.  
Or sounds."

"Hmm~?" The little ears perked up. "Did I just hear you admit that you want to-"

"I meant with girls."

"That's not what you said", the dog enlightened pleasantly.

"I'm tired: you don't listen to what I say when I'm tired. I _meant _with girls."

"Nothing like alcohol and fatigue to loosen the knots Prudence ties on one's to-what are you-NO! No no no no…!"

"You'll be quiet, then?" Shiro said with a smug smirk, holding Mephisto under his front legs over the hungry depths of the cold pool.

"Yes!"

Indeed, demons were fascinating: yesternight, that anxious little mop of fur had been King of Time out to the tips of his fingernails. So many contrasts and contradictions...

"What…?" said dog asked, and Shiro realised he had still held him over the water while he spaced out.

"Technically", he creased his brow in contemplation, "I should drop you. You were warned."

Heh. That one hit the mark.

"No, it's cold!" Mephisto pawed feebly for support on his lower arms, as if he could feel the grip loosening already. "I don't like cold!"

Shiro's pokerface lost to the irresistible tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You really are an adorable little cuddle-bun."

"Eh?" Mephisto went still. Dammit if he wasn't even cuter when he was confused…

"But if you're not quiet from now", Shiro carried the dog back to where he'd left the brush, "you're getting dunked in the cold pool." He seated himself  
again, with Mephisto in his lap and a mean smile on his lips. "And if you wanna get dry and warm afterwards, I believe there's a tumble dryer in the  
laundry room that will be happy to provide its services."

_Offended_, the look said. _Not amused consent_, was woven in between the lines, along with a small, dignified notion of _…well, it's worth it_.

It says something of two individuals that they don't need words to communicate.

* * *

He had, in all honesty, always considered himself a cat person. Dogs were clingy and dumb, and noisy. Cats were a good size; they were intelligent, and  
they were independent. They didn't give a damn about your opinion, and you didn't need to give a damn about theirs.

…but they weren't half as cute as Mephisto. Yes: cute, dignity be damned. That dog was definitely cute. He wasn't much bigger than a cat, he was  
intelligent, and independent, and he certainly didn't give a damn about Shiro's opinions. And he purred. The tangles were long since undone, but Shiro  
kept the brush running through the fur in a steady rhythm.

Mephisto had been silent, initially, but as his ears and eyelids began to droop lower, that soft rumble escaped him unawares. Shiro didn't alert him to it.  
Instead, he watched as the little body rocked with the motion of the brush and began to melt from sitting into lying.

Once Mephisto was too far gone to notice, Shiro started guiding the hairs in other directions with the brush. Oh yes, that would look nice~ Not too much,  
or he would stir, but enough to make for a very interesting hairstyle when he turned b-

*poof*

"Oi! Wake up! You never said you turn back when you fall asleep, dammit! Wake _up_!"

* * *

Shiro crawled onto his futon and kicked off the covers. Not all the demons in Gehenna could keep him from sleeping tonight…

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well, it says in the character description of Izaya Orihara that he's ticklish: and we all know which other famous, sadistically  
philanthropic character Kamiya Hiroshi has voiced. ;3 That's the only thing I have to say in my defense, really. ^_^' It seemed so  
fitting for Mephisto to be ticklish… and to enjoy a bit of pampering. ;P Based somewhat off Tott: he's a little prince, for sure… ^_^'**


	67. 67: Miracle

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

…and yet, that was precisely what it took to wake him. Shiro sensed it before he heard it, thought it before his mind woke up: demons.

He got his glasses in a hurry and fumbled out of the twisted sheets to open the shoji doors to the balcony. Oh, it was a postcard view, alright. The  
moon bled blue-white light down the valley slopes, and the cicadas sang a deafening serenade to summer: a night for love and star-gazing… if the  
stars had not been eaten by black wings…

"_…like when Kaa-san described the war planes…_"

Tengus. _Hundreds_.

Shiro had just enough time to get his uniform trousers on: a belt for the gun and two pockets for the spare magazines, all he needed. He shot the  
tengu dead the moment it tore through the balcony doors.

The spent case struck a muted clink on the tatami mats.

23

One magazine in the SIG P220 and one in each trouser pocket. Eight bullets in each. One fired.

"_Let the countdown begin_", he thought grimly.

Panicked humans do one of two things: hide or flee. Shiro ruled out the latter option as he ran for the stairs that led to the ground floor of the ryokan.  
The sky was the tengus' home ground: better stay indoors where their wings would make them clumsier.

Still, he ran downstairs to the foyer, because there is one thing panicked humans never do: think.

"Stop! They're swarming out there!"

A dishevelled mother in nightdress was dragging two bawling children towards the entrance. She cast a quick, white-faced glance at him over her  
shoulder, and pushed open the doors. She hadn't understood a word he had-

"_Of course not, she doesn't even speak Japanese!_" Oh, English, English; why was he so poor at English?

No time for speaking: he lunged after her, out in the screeching night, heart sealed shut and counting…

22, 21, 20…

Feathers rained from the sky like light, black snow.

19, 18…

He snatched one of the kids – the little girl that had chased and exorcised her brother in the foyer the day before – and hid her behind him.

17, 16: empty

He roughly pushed her and her mother back towards the ryokan, disengaged the empty magazine and shoved another into the handle. The mother  
refused to go back, tore at his arm and screamed something he couldn't underst-

A cry that wasn't a tengu's screech wailed above, and a white, horrified bundle flickered in and out of vision among the black bodies in the sky.

_Tengus reside in the mountains and typically take the shape of priests and monks to trick humans, _Kohu-sensei's voice played in his head, like a tape  
recorder. _The older, stronger daitengus are intelligent, while young tengus are more likely to behave like animals. Regardless of age and level, they  
are nasty creatures, known to kidnap and feed on human children…_

Shiro pushed his glasses up with his left hand, raising the gun with his right.

The kid was in the line of fire between him and the tengu, swinging wildly in the wrinkly claws and increasing the distance by the second…

"Tch!" First shot hit another tengu that flew past. "_Come on, come on…!_" Second shot went through the wing, and demon and child pivoted for the  
ground. "_It didn't let go of the kid, fucking-_"

He sprinted ahead barefoot, ducking talons and beaks, and went down on the ground with the whole mess of feathers and blood and screaming child  
in his arms.

"That kid's not going anywhere!" Shiro grabbed something – no idea what, but it had feathers – and twisted. He jerked his head out of the way when  
a sharp beak tried to tear his face off. "_He's still screaming, at least he's alive._" The beak came back around, and he was forced to drop the gun and  
grab it with both hands. This, the tengu didn't like: wings beating wildly at the ground under its back, it let the boy go and slashed at Shiro with its  
claws. It got him in the thigh with a force that made him see white stars, but a foot firmly planted into its chest prevented it from getting him in  
any vital parts.

In the corner of his eye he saw another tengu land between the kid and his mother, hopping towards the panicked boy on its crooked, scaly hind legs.

"_No – no no no! Shit…!_"

The demon underneath him jerked its head sharply to the side, trying to free itse-

And in one rough twist, he snapped its neck.

More than that: under his fingers, cracks in the massive beak gave off faint tendrils of miasma when they healed back together.

"_I… should not be able to do that…_"

The precious seconds that bought him didn't allow for thinking: a broken neck wouldn't kill a demon, but a silver-jacket bullet in its head would. He tore  
the P220 from the ground and fired, right into the beak that opened as the head snapped back onto the spine. Shiro swivelled around in a tenth of a  
second and put a bullet in the other tengu. The kid was completely out of it with panic, but fortunately kids operated on some default setting that made  
him run straight through the dissolving miasma, straight to his mother.

Was that 15, or 14? 13? More likely 14 or 13.

He hissed curses as he limped after them back into the ryokan, trying to remember how many bullets he had spent on getting the kid back.

13-or-12, 12-or-11…

The tengus were inside the ryokan, too, now. Screams and crying and sounds of feet running for the exit... Shiro herded panicked women and children  
back from the entrance, shouting an accented "Go!" repeatedly as he tried to think.

The demons were there because of the exorcists, no doubt. Demons were territorial; they discovered intruders, they attacked them. The other ryokan  
must be under attack too, but they were many more, they would be able to fight it off, fight their way over to them…

…how fast? 12 bullets or 11, it wouldn't be enough either way.

Shiro tore a notepad and a pencil from the reception desk, scribbled warding symbols on it and pinned it between the entrance door and the notice with  
onsen opening hours mounted on it. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing.

Hold the ryokan until backup arrived from across the village: that was the only option. Ridiculous. Paper doors in every room, balconies and glass windows;  
did people ever stop to think they might build houses a little more safe? They had to barricade themselves somehow, barricade in a small space they could  
hold, preferably with only one entrance – a suicide strategy if the demons got through, but if they got through it wouldn't matter anyway since they had  
no means of-

The clawing and screeching from the other side of the door faded on his ears.

_Open_ _09.00-19.00, free for guests staying at Kiridani Ryokan!  
Guests who do not stay at Kiridani Ryokan may use its onsen  
at the price of ¥500 for adults and ¥100 for children (age 12 or under)  
_

"Salt!" he shouted when he finally remembered the English word.

A woman stumbled down the stairs screaming, a tengu hot on her heels but slowed down by the narrow, troublesome stairs.

11-or-10

"Listen to me!" he shouted at the pale, tear-streaked faces that huddled together in corners and behind lounge furniture. "I need to know how many  
of you there are, and I need sa- oh, for god's sake, is there _anyone _in here that speaks Japanese?!"

"I-I do!" said a thin, bespectacled man with huge, frightened eyes. His Japanese was accented with something that could have been French or Romanian.  
An interpreter. Perfect.

"Good, good: who's in room number one?" Shiro demanded curtly, tearing and scribbling notes as fast as he could.

"Uh, she is", the interpreter said, pointing at a blonde woman rocking a weeping ten-something-year-old in her arms. "What can-"

"The ryokan has twelve rooms: go through them number by number and see if anyone's missing!" He pictured Shizuku's omamori in his mind, hoping  
adrenaline wasn't making him forget the details. "It's not bullet-proof, but these should make demons less eager to jump you." He stacked the notes on  
the reception desk. "I want everyone to- what are you waiting for?" he snapped, snatching the gun beside him and shooting two tengus that had found  
a window. "If everyone's here: take the notes, grab the kids, and get moving! We need salt from the kitchen!"

9-or-8

Gun in one hand and the other pressed against the gash in his thigh, Shiro led the whimpering bunch through the door to the area restricted to personnel.  
The kitchen was tidy and small, with only one stove, two refrigerators and a pantry, and it was-

8-or – _empty_

"Find salt!" he commanded, slamming his last magazine into the gun and making short work of the scavenging demons.

7, 6, 5 – the shells of their remaining lifelines rang musically against the tiled floor.

They left the kitchen with one bag and one tin box of salt. Shiro didn't know how much longer it would take for the exorcists to fight their way through;  
time has a tendency to be unreliable when it spins twice as fast in your head as it does outside it. Right now, time was measured in bullets, and they  
were running out.

Stay calm. He was doing everything he could, he had a plan, he had-

"Ngh…!"

"Sir? Sir, are you unwell?"

He had a goddamn demon trying to take his body.

"I'm fine", he grated, supporting himself against the corridor wall with his right elbow. "_I can't afford this now! I have to get them to safety, I-_" Or all  
these people would die, women torn to shreds and children eaten before their eyes; all because he was cursed with a heart that drew demons like bees  
to honey. "_It's probably because of me they're here: all the other exorcists are at the other ryokan. I'm the reason they-_" He snapped his line of thought  
in half and turned his mind to the dark, fleeting presence that whispered despair to his heart. "_Leave. Now._" It tried again to wind convincing words  
around him, but even if he couldn't save these people, even if he couldn't hold Kiridani Ryokan long enough for the exorcists to reach them, he _would  
_hold his heart. "_Either you leave_", he said coldly, "_or you stay and watch me kill your relatives 'til my last breath. This body's mine._"

"It's not far. Keep walking, and make sure not to lose anyone", he said aloud, pressed his palm over the wound, and limped on with a grim face. "Everyone  
in the water", he panted as he shouldered open the door to the onsen. "All in one pool, cram yourselves in if you must."

He sank down on a rock beside the pool and cast a quick glance at his leg – deep cut, but it had taken on the outside of the thigh and not the inside,  
thank god – before he drew a breath and started chanting. People pushed and shuffled into the pool, gasping at the heat but bearing with it.

Right. If he managed this, he'd done all he could. _If _he managed it.

"O water, creature of God, I exorcise you in the name of God the Father almighty…"

He had avoided Aria chanting until then. Goggles-sensei was a living example of the risks with Aria: start chanting, and demons will come at you in a  
solid wave of darkness. Arias never went on missions without backup.

Backup had better arrive soon.

"O salt, creature of God", he began when the baleful screeches soaked in through the walls. The children weren't screaming anymore: they were deathly  
silent, barely even breathing. Waiting for a miracle. "I exorcise you by the living God, by the true God, by the holy God, by the God who ordered you to be  
poured into the water by Eliseus the Prophet so that its life-giving powers might be restored." The door, plastered with their ward notes, trembled. Shiro  
was surreally aware how his voice bounced off the walls, like rock striking rock…

"_I might die here._" The corners of his lips quirked in a brief, sickly smile: "_It's a miracle if I reach thirty._"

…and how his right forefinger rested on the trigger, breathless and motionless like the children clinging to their mothers: waiting for a miracle. "I exorcise  
you so that you may become a means of salvation for believers, that you may bring health of soul and body to all who make use of you, arid that you may  
put to flight and drive away from the places where you are sprinkled…" The door burst, and the world flowed back in at them in a flurry of dark feathers  
and yellow eyes. "…every apparition…"

4, 3

"…villainy, and turn of devilish deceit…"

2, 1

"…and every unclean spirit, adjured by Him Who will come to judge the living and the dead and the world by fire."

0, and the yellow eyes were burning with hate-

"Amen!" He crossed himself, and kicked hard with his good leg at the tengu that lounged for him. The force of the impact tipped him backwards into the  
water, and the bag and the box of salt with him.

The heat and the salt bit into the wound in his thigh like fire, and he burst the surface in a bubble of hissing profanities.

"_Hope you don't mind my mouth, God. If this doesn't work…_" He brought his hand back and whipped water at the demons. "_Thank you…!_"

The tengus up front stumbled backwards against the flood of black with high-pitched wails of pain, and the room filled with the nauseating smell of  
burning flesh. Backup could take its time: this barricade they could hold as long as they needed.

* * *

People began shouting when they heard gun report from within the ryokan. Shiro didn't feel like shouting, or doing anything else for that matter. He  
had unfastened his belt and pulled it tight over the leg wound, but pressure and salt water combined for a thumping pain that had him gritting his teeth  
by the time backup arrived.

He was too tense to be moved by the tears when families reunited. He was too weary to join in the murmured choir of thankful prayer in different  
tongues. Too tense and hurt and detached for any of it: but when Kasumi hugged his wet body tight and told him he was an idiot, he smiled. She  
smelled of sweat and adrenaline and… gratitude.

* * *

Demons driven off, Doctors assembled the wounded in the foyer to methodically assess damage and administer treatment. Some villagers aside, all of  
the injured were exorcists and clansmen of the Futotsuki. Small wonder – they had had to brave the assaults out in open air all the way there.

Shiro was made to strip down to his underwear, and was given an anaesthetic before the Irish exorcist disinfected the wound and set to stitching it  
together. It looked pretty damn gross, to be honest. He vaguely wondered if he wouldn't have preferred the pain to that… that _wrong _feeling. He could  
feel the needle in the flesh, but he couldn't feel the pain, and that creeped him out. In his mind, that's what it felt like to be dead.

Shiro occupied himself with watching others being treated instead. There was… a light in their faces. A light he'd never seen and couldn't name. Torn  
and tired, they all still smiled as if there wasn't a trouble in the world. As if they all hadn't almost died.

It's easy to forget the simple things. Simple things like life: you don't notice life until it's slipping from your fingertips. You don't notice the taste of air  
until it's forced out of your lungs by the swansong of dreams unfulfilled, or the beat of your heart until it strums an arrhythmic funeral march against  
your ribs.

Humans are stupid that way. They are also marvellous.

When you can breathe again, you taste the air for the first time: you feel the beat of your heart in every capillary, in every cell, vibrant like the first new  
sprouts from fire-ravaged ground. You feel life.

It took a while before Shiro saw the faces beyond that glow and realised what he was seeing: exorcists and Futotsuki on hastily assembled futons, side  
by side, disagreements burnt away by the fire to make room for new things to sprout. Friend, foe and family flocked around the sickbeds to share that  
precious moment of simply being alive: and though he was probably light-headed by fatigue and anaesthesia… that looked a bit like a miracle.

"Mr. Fujimotó?" The same thin, glasses-wearing guy with the French-Romanian accent. "That is your name, right? Fujimotó Shiró?"

"Yes?" It sounded so weird, pronounced like that…

A tall, robust man next to the interpreter bent down and shook Shiro's hand with gusto, a man with a face that- well, Shiro could only look at his nose,  
really. If you took a tengu beak, shortened it and broke it, it would look something like that. Truly fascinating. When he spoke – some fast-paced,  
rhythmic language that sounded like it was spoken through his nose rather than his mouth – his thick eyebrows moved incessantly.

"Monsieur Deslauriers expresses his deep gratitude and earnest admiration for the courage and intelligence you have shown in keeping these people  
safe", the interpreter translated. "They feared the worst, when the demons attacked so suddenly and there was no way to reach Kiridani Ryokan quick  
enough. Rest assured, you will receive proper commendation for your performance, once-"

An even taller man took place next to Deslauriers, and his white uniform stood in stark contrast to the exorcist's black one. When it was clear that they  
would only be speaking whatever-Deslauriers -was-speaking – French, if Shiro would chance a guess from his name – Shiro motioned the interpreter  
down on his haunches and asked him to translate.

"Yes, yes, there were no casualties", Deslauriers ensured.

"What a relief!"

"Indeed – and we have this young man to thank for it. I have not heard all accounts, but my wife tells me he handled the situation with such authority  
she knew they were going to be safe the moment he came into the foyer. A role model indeed, Sir Pheles."

"Hai hai~ A prodigy, best in his class – and he has the youngest Yaonaru to compete with for that position. Haah, a true shame, to lose such a promising  
young exorcist."

"Lose? Whatever are you talking about?" Deslauriers' eyebrows made a most fascinating leap, as if determined to take cover in his thick, curly hair.

Mephisto's gloved palms turned upward, to show how much say he had in these matters.

"Alas, Fujimoto-kun's education is covered by funds from the Japanese government; with his graduation from high school this spring, he will no longer  
have the means to pay for further schooling." Mephisto heaved another sympathetic sigh. "If only his talent had been discovered earlier: one year is  
far too short a time to pass the exorcist exam, even for him."

Deslauriers' eyebrows made another attempt to jump into his hair, and he turned to Shiro when he spoke:

"Is it true that you have not been in exorcist school for more than a year, Mr. Fujimotó?" the interpreter forwarded.

"I enrolled last semester. Sir", he added, shooting a quick glance at Mephisto. Perfectly collected. Perfectly patient. _Perfectly in control._

"…m sure we can find a suitable scholarship for talented students of lesser means. Even if Mr. Fujimotó is over-age, he is…" drifted past his ears and  
registered somewhere in the back of his head: his brain was busy with other things.

Demons either obey, or command: obey or command the single rule of demon society. _Might makes right_. If a mighty enough demon commands… will  
they obey _any _command?

"_He went to the parade the night before._"

No, there was no way he would risk the lives of-

"_He wrote me in to share accommodation with the families._"

But that wouldn't-

"_I didn't remember packing that P220._"

There was no way, no way in _hell _that Mephisto would go through all that trouble for the sake of a scholar-

"_Not for a scholarship._" Shiro looked around again, looked at the serene faces of exorcists and Futotsuki rejoined with their families; exorcists and  
Futotsuki that had fought side by side against a common enemy, disagreements burnt away and soil left fertile for new growth. "_Miracle might not be  
the proper word…_"

* * *

**A/N: Festival, onsen, Shiro booked as Mephisto's wife – really now, do you think I write these things for fun? =_='**

**…yeah, I do. ;3**

**That said, they're not without purpose even if they are mainly comic relief. That's a good rule of thumb, if you haven't already noticed: if I put something there, I put it there for a reason. I also like re-using expressions to explore them from different points of view – all is relative, after all. Squint when you read and rack your memory a bit, and you will see quite a few phrases recurring the way they did here.**

**I didn't particularly like the part about life and simple things, but I found I couldn't express it properly in any way I tried. I was near death, once. Maybe twice, hard to tell. Either way, it's very unpleasant, and very hard to put words on. I hope you can picture it, and I hope you never have to experience it.**


	68. 68: Faith in you

**A/N: Shoutout to SkyHearts for the lovely fanart, although I still have a few paranoid suspicions you've been hacking into my  
computer and reading ahead in the fic... ;9**

**skyshow . deviantart gallery / # / d5t8f2o**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Next day brought a fairy tale ending into the postcard landscape, and by noon they had decided on continued cooperation between the rebel faction  
of the Futotsuki clan and the Order of the True Cross. The few arguments that arose were muted with grave understanding of necessity, and pointed  
disagreements were smoothed down by the refreshed knowledge that without each other's aid, some of them would not be sitting at the table today.

No fire forges bonds stronger than hardship.

No cause unites people like a common enemy.

No one knows human nature better than a demon.

Shiro tried, all the way back to the academy, to worm a confession out of Mephisto: in vain, not surprisingly. His silver tongue created a shield that  
made any accusation and question slide off its surface, to the point that Shiro brought out his trump card:

"As I recall, I promised to keep your secrets", he said, staring hard the profile reading manga, as if he could force it to show some betraying tick. "And  
in return, you promised you would trust me."

Green eyes glanced sideways at him with a sly, amused look.

"Are you saying I didn't~?"

One sentence. With a silver tongue like his, one sentence is all you need_._


	69. 69: Pulling strings

**A/N: Again, I have to wonder: why haven't I seen any fics on this topic? 0_0' I **_**know **_**I'm not the only one around here with a sadistic  
mind. That said, I didn't make all that much of it, since I think I've been dawdling too long anyway: I want to get to the plot, and I  
rudely assume you want the same…? ^_^'**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

A button with too sharp edges. The kind that eats away at the thread it's sewn with, slowly. One by one, fibres wear thin and snap.

And Shiro was very close to snapping.

He had always had a temper, though nowadays he rarely exploded the way he had done a few times in the past. That was, in all aspects, a good thing:  
but right now, he wanted nothing more than a reason to explode.

* * *

The gash in his leg hurt, and it kept him on crutches: still, that was okay.

He had locked his cigarettes away in a drawer 36 hours ago, and he could hear them sing sweet love songs for his fingers. It was a bitch, but it was  
still okay.

Mephisto had admitted, of sorts, that he had staged the attack on the ryokan. For a human, that was not okay: for a demon… well, you can take the  
demon out of hell, but you can't take hell out of the demon. He served the Order's interests, in his own way; and, considering the alternative, it was…  
dubiously okay.

Shiro had had an inexplicable, stiff soreness in his finger joints ever since the meeting. The school nurse had no guesses except growing pains or  
soreness from muscle exhaustion, and had prescribed resting his hands as much as he could. No target practice. That… was not okay.

Withdrawal had started thumping a slow, steady rhythm against his skull, and no matter what he ate he never seemed to get rid of the hunger.

And so, threads had begun wearing thin.

* * *

Tch, even if someone did cause him to explode, what was he going to do? Hop after them on his crutches and beat them up with hands he could  
barely curl into fists? He had no idea, only knew that he felt like a steam engine with all vents blocked. Whoever caused the last thread to snap  
would be a sorry bastard.

Shiro made his way through the school corridors like a bomb with the countdown in bright red digits on his forehead, and many who normally might  
have offered a guy on crutches help with opening doors kept a nervous distance. When, despite that, a sophomore guy asked if he wanted him to  
carry his satchel up the staircase, the "no" he snarled at him was more of an animal growl than human speech.

The battle at Kiridani Ryokan may be in the past, but there is no rest for the wicked. Shiro still had to protect the people around him; from himself.  
Demons swarmed to his boiling temper, clustered the air around him and waited patiently for his cold detachment to slip and leave him open for the  
taking. One slip, and he would hurt someone seriously before he regained control. Whoever caused the last thread to snap would be a sorry bastard  
indeed.

* * *

The sorry bastard was writing reports at its desk in the dorm room. Futotsuki-sensei had come back to the Academy when the tension had settled,  
which also meant that the substitute teacher was alleviated of his duties. And full of questions.

"I was told you did well at the meeting." Saburota struck up conversation in the mechanical manner of a phrase book when the tapping of the  
crutches passed the threshold.

"I suppose", Shiro replied in a voice that wasn't the least interested in discussing the matter further: if his roommate caught that, he ignored it  
adamantly.

"Being able to take swift action in a dire situation is a valuable asset in an exorcist: you should pride yourself on it."

At any other time… But Shiro was not in the mood for this kind of dance.

"Just say what you wanna say and stop beating around the bush", he muttered and deposited his sore, grumpy body in the desk chair. "You're not  
any good at talking round anyway."

Saburota closed his notepad, laid down his pencil, and turned his chair so that Shiro had the full, straight-backed frame to look at. The glasses  
caught the lamplight and obliterated his eyes, but Shiro knew what look they wore. Flat. Grim. Effective. Dead. A look that Shiro mirrored perfectly  
opposite his interrogator.

"There seems to be a correlation between you and demon attacks", Saburota observed sombrely.

"Demons seem to like me", he returned in stony tones.

"I was told not to sully the family name by speaking of Deep Keep. I was told my cousin died on duty, killed by demons: in Deep Keep, the most  
fortified stronghold in Japan." His voice carried monotonously in the silence, trailed the dubious tracks Shiro himself had spent almost a year  
dogging. "You went down there. Why?"

Sharp and deceptively polite, like the light reflecting off his glasses: like the retort that slipped Shiro's lips before he could think:

"Taking swift action in a dire situation: that's a good thing, ain't it?"

Saburota's jaw clenched imperceptibly tighter.

"I will not play games with you, Fujimoto-kun. You knew where to go when the attack struck. There is something down there that had to do with it,  
and I want to know what that is."

It was not fair, or just, or defendable in any way: but Shiro was irritable, sore, hogtied by circumstance, and in a damn foul mood. That can bring out  
the sadist in anyone.

"Well, you know the rules of Deep Keep better than anyone: no one's allowed to say what's down there."

He wouldn't have done it if it hadn't felt so good. Bad. Good: it felt good in a bad way. It felt like steam pushing its way out an open vent.

"What d-does it take for you t-to take things serious-l-ly?"

Saburota was a good exorcist. Intelligent, efficient, responsible, good-looking: perfect. Too perfect. He was a sheet of spotless ice atop a dark lake;  
the kind of ice that cracks with a thin, crisp sound that reminds you of glass, and that makes you itch to break it. He possessed outstanding  
composure, sure: but once he started to stutter… you could hear threads snapping. You could hear ice creaking. And it felt good.

"A lot", Shiro replied, allowing hints of a cruel smile to touch his lips for reasons he couldn't determine.

"My cousin _died_", he said gravely, clenching his hands into fists in his lap as he fought to keep his stutter in check. "With a clean cut-t in his chest:  
the kind left b-by sword, not talons. You went down in D-deep Keep, without permis-s-sion. With a sword."

"Are you saying you think I'd kill people, senpai…?"

It was _revolting_, how steady the words were, how smoothly they rolled off his tongue: and at the same time prickling, pulling, compelling – not  
unlike the thrill of danger…

"I'm not- I'm s-saying you _know _what happen-n-ned." He clung to his composure, winding himself stiffer in it and hating it; hating the stutter, hating  
his failure to control it, hating his failure to- "And as your elder, I ord-order you to tell me."

…the thrill… of controlling a person's emotion with words…

"_I have to stop._" Snaring prey: he was snaring prey, as a demon would. Taunting and prodding and exploiting human emotion and _getting off on  
it_ – mother of god, since when had he…? "It's not my place to say", he said in an entirely different manner as he tried to force nastier instincts in  
line. "If you have questions, you should take them to higher authority. I'm sorry – about your cousin, and my behaviour." He was. Now that he'd  
snapped out of it, and realised what he had done, he was truly, genuinely sorry. "I'm trying to quit smoking, it's…" He made a vague gesture with  
his hand. "It wears on your nerves."

On _his_ nerves…? When he lowered his head in an apologetic bow, it was evident whose nerves had been worse for wear.

It sounds so nice to say the eyes are the windows of the soul. When Saburota's glasses didn't reflect the light… when composure no longer held the  
façade together… Shiro was reminded why windows often come with blinds.

"I forgive you." Oh, but he was good: the curtains were drawn so fast you'd doubt you actually saw anything. "For this", he added. "I can not forgive  
your actions during the attack: not until I have-"

The sound of silver bells and choirs singing: a knock on the door. Shiro wasted no time to grab his crutches, but hopped over on one leg to get it.  
Perfect timing, although…

"Good day, Fujimoto-kun. May I enter?"

…it was the last person in the world he would have expected.

"…sure", he said when he found his tongue, and limped aside to let the unexpected visitor in.

"And good day, Fujimoto-kun's roommate. Now, I come on a most urgent errand…" Shiro couldn't believe his eyes when the demon sank down on  
his knees, and folded himself forward into a dogeza. "Please, talk sense into Master Pheles. A servant's word is nothing to him; please, Fujimoto-kun.  
If it's you, he might listen."

"Uh…" A demon kowtowing before a human for help? He needed a couple of moments to get his footing, now that the world had turned upside down.  
"What's the matter with him…?"

"My Master is _bored_."

Belial uttered the word at the floor as though it were the name of an ancient calamity that had slept beneath the world for ages and now awakened  
to engulf it in destruction.

"I see", Shiro said, stroking the stubble on his chin to hide his smile. "Pestering his household staff for entertainment, is he?"

"Today, Master decided to _cook _for his staff_._" Belial's grave tone indicated that was something Very Bad, though in Shiro's ears it just sounded Very  
Funny. He would think many things of Mephisto, but that he could cook…?

"Well, seeing as battling demons will be my job one day…" he chuckled. "I'll help ya – just have to buy some… ammunition first."

* * *

He was so winning this bet. Almost a pity, though. The prize wasn't very exciting, but seeing Mephisto climb the walls was something he-

"Ow!"

He cursed and shook his hand, having received quite the shock from the wired doorbell.

"_Suppose a bored Mephisto is a danger to everyone…_"

"With all due respect to your condition, Fujimoto-kun, that took you quite a while", said the demon that ope-

"Belial-san? I didn't recognise you without moustache."

"His highness' main course burnt it off", Belial explained in a voice that cracked tiny veins in his polite, composed façade. Some part of Shiro pitied  
him: the very tiny part that didn't find all this hilarious. "Please, come in: I believe his highness is preparing dessert. On behalf of the staff as a whole,  
I would appreciate if you could prevent his highness from completing it."

The kitchen seemed to have followed the staff's example and gone into hiding when Mephisto's withdrawal symptoms hade made themselves known.  
All the rooms they passed through had suffered his boredom one way or the other: one had to admire his zest, really, seeing how he had turned the  
cupola in the parlour into a gravity-defying swimming pool, and managed an almost perfect silverware-replica of the Eiffel Tower in the ballroom.

"Ah", Belial said as they reached a smaller version of the Hall of Mirrors in Versailles. "Pardon me, Fujimoto-kun."

And with that, he swept him up bridal-style and stepped onto the hall floor, where all the checkerboard marble tiles seemed to be in disarr-

*di-da-do-do-di-da-do-do, di-da-do-do-di-da-do-do*

"What the _hell _is this…?" he asked, eyes wide as Belial _danced _back and forth on floor tiles that gave off _sound_.

"A piano", he replied, completely unfazed as he skipped this-way-and-that, slowly making his way across the hall. "His highness is quite fond of the  
opening theme of _Shinbatto no bouken_. If played incorrectly, the floor will fall away: we lost two maids and one manservant before we could establish which  
melody was the right one."

Shiro kept his mouth shut rather than accidentally making Belial miss a step. A bored Mephisto was a danger to everyone.

"Say, Belial-san…" Past the piano-hall, Shiro decided to ask something that had slipped his mind before, but that had him rather curious when he  
remembered it. "Have you ever called Samael by name?"

Good thing he hadn't asked in the hall of mirrors: just like the snake demon at Hyakki Yagyou, Belial winced ever so slightly.

"No, Fujimoto-kun, I have not."

"Why?" he inquired as casually as he could, and shifted his satchel of ammunition to appear even more relaxed and not-curious-as-hell.

"I do not see why that should matter to you."

"Then good luck with your master: I'm out."

"Pardon?" Belial turned around to see Shiro stop by a door carved in silver oak, rest his crutches against the wall, and take out his cram school key.

"What, you think demons are the only ones to demand services-in-return?" His white eyebrows rose over expressionless eyes. "It's just one question:  
why don't you say his name?"

Belial wasn't exactly happy… but he was also desperate. Desperate, fatigued, and anxious: the schooled, professional face didn't show it, and no  
restless fingers betrayed it, but Shiro knew. If asked, he would chance a guess it had to do with the imprint: because he actually _knew_.

"No demon would take his highness' name in his mouth", Belial said in curt, unwilling syllables. "It's cursed."

"Cursed? How does a _demon _have a cursed name?"

At this, the butler's thin lips drew a scornful line on his face.

"Names are powerful things, young man", he replied in a soft, polite voice. "One name may be spoken carelessly by a human, but in a demon's mouth  
it turns into ash and lye."

"Last question, then." Shiro put his key back in his pocket, signalling that he wasn't going to try Belial's patience much longer. "Why was he given a  
cursed name?"

The demon's narrow eyes grew wider, as did his smirk.

"The only one to know that would be Lord Satan: why don't you ask his majesty yourself, when his majesty comes for you?" Shiro tried his best… but  
couldn't keep the cruel statement from hardening his eyes. "For now, I think we will reach the kitchen just in time to try the dessert the Lord's son  
has made."

Shiro had taken it for miasma at first, but the black smoke trickling over the arced ceiling was precisely that: black smoke. It smelled of something  
that could have been roasted almonds, or coal.

* * *

The kitchen looked deceptively undisturbed; like a crocodile pretending to be a log. There was a profound lack of drawers and cutlery, though. And  
people. There wasn't a single person there, save for a tied-up Ukobach chattering protests from among the pots and pans that hung on hooks  
around the stove. Maybe he had tried to protect his kitchen: maybe he followed the same code of honour as captains that go down with their  
ships when the rest of the crew flees.

"You're not seriously thinking of serving that to anyone, are you?" Shiro stated to get the attention of the invading chef.

Mephisto's Hello Kitty-clips came into view from behind one of the stoves, followed by a flour-speckled countenance and a sheet pan of… uh… never  
mind what those were supposed to be.

"And why not?" he asked irritably. One look at his face told Shiro that he probably hadn't slept since the meeting, and that his patience was worn  
rice paper-thin. Good.

"For one, they seem to be burning holes through the sheet pan." Shiro produced the ammunition from his satchel and held it up for Mephisto to see.  
"And I figured you'd be more interested in this: latest issue of _Shoujo Comic_, so fresh from the printing press you can smell the ink." He assumed  
Mephisto could, even if all he felt was the crusty tang of burnt carbohydrates. Shiro flipped the pages with the smooth elegance of one showcasing  
products on tv-shop, and watched the sheet pan creak and crinkle like tin foil in Mephisto's polka-dotted oven gloves. "But seeing as you're busy,  
I'll just take a seat and wait 'til you're done."

Shiro limped over to fetch a stool from the corner, feeling Mephisto's gaze locked on like laser sight to the magazine in his hand. He placed himself  
strategically right next to the oven the demon was abusing, tilted to lean his back against the wall, and flipped open _Shoujo Comic_. This wouldn't  
take long: he could already hear a faint, pained whine trying to hide under the hum of the stove fan's death rattles. Shared agony is half agony,  
simply because the other half is comprised of glee.

Two things can generally be said of demons: they indulge unabashedly in every pleasure they desire, and they are masters at temptation.

Two things can generally be said of humans: they fight demons, and shield themselves from their temptations with restraint.

If there is anything unnatural for a demon to do, it is to abstain from pleasure; if there is anything unnatural for a human to do, it is to befriend a  
demon. And at the peak of the bizarre anomaly that was their friendship, Shiro brought it to a whole new level still: how often do you hear of a  
human tempting a demon?

"That _has _to be cheating", Mephisto ground out between clenched teeth as he struggled to keep his hands steady when pouring batter into paper  
cups. It would appear he was trying to make cupcakes. It would also appear he favoured aprons with lace trimming.

"Oh, I don't think so~ I'm not exactly shoving it under your nose and forcing you to read, am I? You're free to puff on a cigarette in front of me,  
if you feel this is unfair", he grinned, and threw a glance at Mephisto's unusually twitchy movements as he turned another page.

*poof!*

"Have one." A shiny black packet of _Peace_ plopped down in Shiro's lap. "As long as you do it under the fan, I will even let you smoke indoors."

Shiro could not hide his expression: he was _that _desperate? O-hoho, bad move, Mephisto~

"The true virtue of mankind is restraint, wasn't that what you said once?" he smiled graciously as he tucked the packet into his chest pocket. "It's  
only been two days: I can go without for a week at least. That's, oh, five more days like this…?"

Mephisto sagged over the workbench with an agonized groan, and the curl on his head wilted like a sad flower: with that sweet sight on his retina,  
Shiro might actually have been able to go five more days.

"Sometimes I wonder which one of us is the demon…"

"Your own fault for imprinting me", Shiro smiled into the pages. "_That's right: gotta ask him about that later, when he's cooled down. He won't  
be in any talkative mood after he's lost._"

Belial was having the time of his life. His jaw was clenched as tightly as Mephisto's, but the convulsive contractions of his throat muscles suggested  
it wasn't because he was irritated. No, he was laughing: laughing, because neither he nor any other demon would dream of doing anything like this.  
Demon society, demon rules: takes a reckless human idiot to break them.

"Hm, I think I'll skip this one", Shiro mused aloud and leafed ahead. "_Kaze to Ki no Uta_ looks more like your kind of thing. Are they even allowed to  
publish stuff like this in girls' magazines…?"

Mephisto's hair curl reared up, like an antenna homing in on good news. Shiro knew perfectly well that _Kaze to Ki no Uta _was Mephisto's thing, of  
course: the manga had been refused publishing for nine years because of its… content.

"That, is a tragic and captivating story of _masterful _proportions; not something an uncultivated plebeian like you can appreciate!"

"Watch where you're waving that spatula, you might get batter on the mag."

Any more now, and there would be steam coming out of his pointy ears: Shiro was enjoying himself – how to say? – _royally_.

"You sadistic little creep…!" he whined, hands clenching in frustration and curl ticking like an eyebrow would.

"At your service", Shiro said, spreading his hands with a pleasant smile: Mephisto's starving eyes followed the colourful magazine like… "_Like a dog  
with a scrap of dried liver._" Shiro moved the magazine up… down…right… left… Mephisto followed its every move with transfixed eyes. "You're dripping  
batter on the floor, your highness", he enlightened sweetly.

Mephisto snapped out of his trance with a mortified look: his ears pulled down, and his mouth turned into the kind of squiggly line you would see his  
stick figures endowed with. And in his eyes… the last threads snapped. He snatched the magazine out of Shiro's hand and poofed away with a growl  
that sounded like "you win".

"Well, that's that." He took his glasses off and used the apron Mephisto had left behind to wipe cupcake batter off the glass. "He might sulk for a few  
days, but he should leave the mansion alone."

"We are all deeply grateful, Fujimoto-kun." Belial made quick work of untying Ukobach, who immediately set to salvage what could be salvaged of his  
beloved kitchen. "Would you like to stay for dinner? Ukobach says he will cook whatever you-"

"Thanks", he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture, "but what I really want right now is a smoke; and whatever he says, I don't trust he'd  
let me smoke indoors. I have to catch up on studies 'cause of the withdrawal headaches, too. So, uh, good luck with everything, and… hope you can  
piece the place back together."

"Very well: goodbye, and good luck with your studies." Belial bowed and, with the faintest hint of a smile, added: "I pity any demon that crosses  
your path when you have graduated."

* * *

Shiro took his time, walking down from the mansion on the summit to the student dorms. With any luck, Saburota would be occupied with work  
when he got back. Cigarettes taste better when you smoke them outdoors, anyway.

"_Cursed name, huh?_" Tch, it was really slow going, downhill on crutches: Saburota would be sleeping rather than working. "_Like outpacing thought…_"  
Still didn't know what that meant, but… "_Sounds like you'd have personal reasons to help the Order against your dad._"


	70. 70: Unexpected side-effects

**A/N: This is a transitional chapter, but I thought I should make something of it: so I'm dedicating this to the world's teachers. Haven't  
you ever wondered what it's like to be employed by a demon…? Now, as a child of two teachers, I grew up hearing what school is like  
behind the scenes: foremost, I got to hear what teachers really think of their students – and superiors. I had tons of anecdotes to pick  
from, so this might pull in all kinds of directions, but I try staying as true as I can to the original statements and quotes here. I hope it  
can spark your imagination regarding this largely unexplored aspect of AnE (in other words, I hope to make people write fics from the  
TCA-teachers' perspectives so I can read them).** **Ow~**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Shiro had never been on good terms with his history teacher. He wasn't quite sure if it started with her dislike for his bleached hair, or that time he  
had been caught folding origami animals out of his history test. He thought he sat safely at the back of the classroom when he did that, but Maki-sensei  
was the kind of woman whose eyes somehow seemed to get better with age rather than worse.

All things considered, he found it very strange that his Ansei period essay was returned with a coupon for the school cafeteria stapled onto the last  
page. That had to be a mistake: but you don't look a gift horse in the mouth, and the cafeteria certainly served classier food than anything he could  
cook in the dorm kitchen.

* * *

Shiro had no gift for English. Akuri-sensei was well aware that he spent his English classes wishing for the buttons in her shirt to pop off: or so he  
had to assume, since she had unbuttonedtwo of them today and actually _smiled_ at him when she walked past and… bent forward… to inspect his  
writing… or something like that dear god she had boobs like honeydews and something about the difference between g and q in minuscule lette-

Akuri-sensei appreciated that he had turned away to avoid getting nose blood on her white shirt, and told him he could keep the napkin.

* * *

"How are you, Shiro-kun?"

It's the small things, the small everyday things, that really hurt when they're taken away from you. How was he? He was far away, living by proxy to  
keep up the pretence that he was-

"Fine. You two?"

He heard himself speak as if it were someone else. Well, wasn't it? The skin he wore may be the same, but the Shiro in it was different. A prodigy, a  
paragon; a hero statue coated with a bronze surface to cover the cold stone from which it was hewn.

He didn't tell Sen to stop asking when they met, though. It hurt, to be treated like nothing had happened; but it helped him act like nothing had. It  
helped him remember how to act like a normal human being.

"We decided Midori will visit my village over summer", she said as if speaking to daydreams and dust motes. She made a strange, lonesome little  
island in the chattering ocean that was the Academy cafeteria.

"That sounds great. Wish I could have a proper summer holiday, but I'm gonna stay here and study."

"I want~" Midori exchanged looks of fevered passion with his food, and didn't seem to notice a word of what had been said. "Do you really like girls,  
Shiro-kun? Or you just like girls to hit you?"

Then again, it was hard not to notice the rolls of paper sticking out of his nostrils.

"It was my teacher, and she didn't- well, you could say she hit me. Figuratively." Not the reply the old Shiro would have given. Not the smile the old  
Shiro would have smiled. "_Caution before comfort_", he reminded himself grimly. There were a lot of people in the cafeteria. A lot of people he could  
hurt, if he didn't guard his heart well enough.

What he had done to Saburota yesterday was proof he couldn't trust himself. He didn't even need to be possessed to cause harm: all he needed was  
a hint of weakness to wake the predator in the dark corners of his heart. Guard his heart, guard his tongue, guard the people arou-

"Shiiiiirooooo-kuuuun~?" Midori resorted to flicking the cross on his glasses string to gain his attention. "Can I taste your food?"

"Oh, sure. Just leave some for me, it's the only time I'll have the chance to eat such fancy stuff."

As if. Midori could eat twice her own weight every day – or something like that. Her table manners were like a vanishing act at the circus, accompanied  
by a variety of chirping and humming sounds that had Shiro thinking of Mephisto's content purrs when he was being brushed.

"How come you buy cafeteria food now, suddenly?" Sen asked, taking small, small bites of her bento box.

"It's the teachers: they like me." And not just the teachers: besides the food, he had been given a lavender pannacotta topped with Scandinavian  
bilberries on the side, with no explanation whatsoever save a smile and a wink from the cafeteria lady. "No teacher has ever liked me, and now  
they buy me food. I don't get it."

"What did you do for them, then?"

"Nothing." He cautiously sliced the creamy dessert, trying hard to make his aching fingers hold the spoon. "I improved my grades, but they hardly  
give stuff like this to every student that puts some muscle into studying. I'm thinking they could be ganging up on me for some practical joke."

It was a possibility. Technically, it was only a month until he graduated; if they were ever going to get revenge on the school's most notorious  
prankster, they would have to make their move now.

"Shagow of min-g can cova de shun", Midori managed to say through a mouthful – really, a mouth _full_ – of food. "Maybe dey jusch wang ko make  
Shiwo-kung happy?"

Maybe. All Shiro could think of was how she chose just the right words: the shadow of mind can cover the sun. Did she even think when she said  
it? Or did she act on the same kind of instinct, inherent in demons, that he had felt? She worried for him, he knew that, and still…

Shiro looked at her stuffed cheeks and content eyes: a mask. That he made her wear. To make it easier to wear his own.

It's the small, everyday things that really hurt. Pretending… hurt.

* * *

His maths teacher didn't chew his ass for the 70% he scored at the test. The hastily written physics report he had handed in last week came back  
with a not-very-good-but-better-than-it-deserved grade. And when Shiro was about to exit the classroom after demonology class, Kohu-sensei  
discreetly passed him a small paper bag.

"Sensei, what is-"

"Why don't you come to the teachers' break room when you finish for the day, hm?" she suggested, her smiling eyes framed by merry wrinkles.

"Uh…?"

That's it: it _was _some sort of payback the teachers had planned for him. And yet it was far too obvious to summon him to the break room like tha-  
What if he'd gotten intro trouble somehow? What if somebody had ratted on him for something he'd done back in the day he had time to be a  
nuisance? No; why would they be so strangely kind to him if that were the case…?

Meanwhile, Kohu-sensei left him with his musings and the smell of homemade daifuku from the paper bag. Shiro fumbled to get the door open  
without dropping his crutches, to hop after her and ask what this was all about, but ended up almost colliding with his Aria teacher.

"S'cuse me, sensei, I need to-"

"Is it true?"

It was always difficult to read Goggles-sensei's face, or what was left of it: but this time the lidless, staring eyes matched her voice perfectly.

"I don't think I know what you mean, Go- uh, Nao-sensei", he confessed.

"Did you make Sir Pheles wear a… a _suit _to the personnel meeting?"

"Oh. Well, yes." That's right: Mephisto would be wearing normal clothes now. "For a week, that is."

"Just a week?" she said absentmindedly, and the goggles she was nicknamed after moved as her forehead crinkled. Then she hurried along,  
mumbling something that sounded like "I need to borrow a camera."

* * *

He would not believe it. He would _not _believe that this… that all these weird things and teachers suddenly liking him, was because Mephisto was  
wearing something that didn't look like he had stolen it from a circus.

…but curiosity won't be stilled by anything less than certainty. The teachers' break room was a place he had, for natural reasons, avoided at all costs.  
He had some remote idea that alarms would go off the moment he set foot inside the door, triggered by lingering karmic traces of all the things he  
had gotten away with over the years.

No alarms went off, and he successfully managed to ease the door shut without sound. It could still be a prank. Shiro used very small, very careful  
hops to transport himself inside the antechamber quietly.

The room wasn't very big. It contained one rack for outdoors shoes and one for slippers, and the entirety of the left wall was covered by a large set  
of named lockers for teachers to leave notes and documents for each other. The opposite wall had an equally large notice board, where Shiro spotted  
several yellowed newspaper articles about the school, and photographs of the staff taken at jubilees and graduation ceremonies. There was also a  
calendar, in which someone had marked today's date with a bright red circle that did nothing to put his suspicions to rest.

"Teaching would be a lot more enjoyable without students."

That was Futotsuki-sensei's voice from behind the door to the actual break room. He sounded unusually… dejected.

"Anything we can help you with, Futotsuki-kohai?"

And that would be Kohu-sensei, the demonology teacher.

"You can help me hang them from a washing line by their eyelids", he grumbled.

"That class again?"

"That class again." His sigh was punctuated with the sound of papers being tossed on a table. "What will become of society when our generation is  
gone, Kohu-senpai? What will become of Japan when we leave the reins to blockheads that can't even draw protective circles?"

"With any luck, we'll be dead before we find out", she replied, and Shiro couldn't really tell if it was a joke or not. "I won't mind: I lived long enough  
to witness a miracle. Sir Pheles in a suit. I still can't quite believe it."

"Neither can I." Gokuro-sensei sounded far from his usual, stammering stage-frighted self in P.E. class. "For the first time, I left salary negotiations  
with a smile on my lips!"

"Though not with raised salary." Watanabe-sensei, Shiro's maths' teacher…? _Everyone _was there?

"Raised salary? Why don't you have your graduate students calculate the probability for that on the spring exams, Watanabe-kohai?" Maki-sensei  
butted in with a smile in her voice. "Or is it more than five decimals from zero…?"

"If I do that, my salary will be more than five decimals from zero", he chuckled. Shiro had to hop closer to the door to be sure he heard that right.  
Maths teachers could _chuckle_…?

"I wouldn't have cared if he had cut my pay in half", Gokuro-sensei continued in a voice that bordered on religious rapture. "So many times I've wanted  
to stuff that cravat into his mouth…"

Muffled laughter from beyond the door agreed unanimously to the statement.

"At least you can blink." Goggles-sensei's strong voice was, for the first time Shiro could recall, tinted with amusement. "I have to stare at that hideous  
getup whether I like it or not: if it were up to me, I'd shove those tights right down there with the cravat."

"No matter what comes out of your mouth, Nao-senpai, all I hear is different ways to get Sir Pheles' pants off", Ando-sensei said in the driest, most  
disapproving tone Shiro had ever heard from the Dragoon instructor.

"Well, you can't deny he's a handsome devil – not after today's meeting", she laughed. "For once I was glad I can't blink."

"_Goggles-sensei…?_" Shiro would have to severely re-evaluate his thoughts on his Aria teacher.

"That's a very inappropriate way to speak of one's superiors – not to mention a demon", Ando-sensei said curtly. "What kind of values do we teach  
students by saying such things?"

"Oh, come now, Ando-kohai! Had it been a _Lady_ Pheles you would have said the exact same thing!" Kohu-sensei teased merrily. "Let women have  
their unattainable dreams: we are merely crinklier versions of the teenage girls we tutor, after all."

…Shiro would have to re-evaluate his thoughts on his demonology teacher, too.

"Teenage girls? More like hens around a rooster. Did you even notice that you agreed to another two hours of unpaid extracurricular work per week?  
Or were you too busy admiring his waistline?"

"Well, Ando-kohai: did you notice that you agreed to cut down the budget for practice range ammunition with five hundred thousand yen last month~?"  
said Toshio-sensei with deceptive sweetness. "What did _you _admire that had you so distracted?"

"Admire? There's a reason we use bullets to negotiate with demons rather than words", he grumbled. "And I could put one right between that smirking  
clown's eyes."

"And that's not an inappropriate way to speak of your superiors?" Goggles-sensei jabbed with a chuckle.

"An ordinary bullet", the Dragoon instructor clarified. "He would regenerate that. Then I could shoot him again: sooner or later, when I run out of  
bullets, he will have to buy more."

"I doubt it would make him inclined to buy you any more ammunition, but I do like the idea. While you're at it, see if you can get him to approve a  
purchase of new course literature in history: time doesn't stand still, even if Sir Pheles appears to think so."

"Speaking of time, Maki-senpai: are you certain Fujimoto-kun will come?" Akuri-sensei was the one asking that? Something stirred in Shiro's closed  
heart that told him it might pay off to try harder in English class.

"He will", Maki-sensei confirmed with a kind of dry, humorous note in her voice. "As surely as civil unrest follows famine, that blonde delinquent  
goes wherever he can stir up a ruckus."

"He has improved greatly, though", Toshio-sensei – of all people, _Toshio-sensei? _– joined in. "Both in sword technique and in character." Then he  
chuckled. "I wonder, could it be that it takes one demon to tame another? I'm quite sure his change came about after Sir Pheles began tutoring him."

"One evil cancels out another? Maybe. I wouldn't mind if that kind of change began to show in Sir Pheles, too. I really do hope to get a week's  
vacation – _proper _vacation, not vacation with paperwork attached – to visit my grandchildren."

"Good evening, Fujimoto-kun", said a voice that made Shiro jump. When he turned around, his demon pharmacology teacher had just entered the  
antechamber.

"Good evening, Matsuri-sensei." He began the endeavour of untying his shoelaces and pretended he had just arrived. "It took a while to get here. I-"

"Let me help you with that. It's the least I can do." It was more surprise than gratitude that made him surrender the task of getting his shoes off  
to her. "I didn't believe you were the one behind it, at first, but then I remembered your Esquire exam in the Hakkoda mountains, and it occurred  
to me: who else could pull off something that outlandish?" She cast a quick glance and a smile up at him. "Exorcising a naga from a wok pan: has  
me smiling every time I think about it."

When Shiro entered with Matsuri-sensei, he found that he was surprised to see his teachers there. Part of him had believed it was strangers  
impersonating their voices. Really, Goggles-sensei had a thing for Mephisto?

The break room was classy, as everything about True Cross Academy was. The furniture was dressed in lush, mauve leather that complimented  
the white walls and gave off an air of sophisticated cleanliness. Shiro couldn't remember feeling so out of place since he had testified at the  
hearing in Headquarters over Christmas.

Even more so when Akuri-sensei approached in the downpour of _thank yous _and handed him a flower bouquet the size of an akita inu.

"Thank you, Akuri-sensei." He tried to get a good grip on the flowers without dropping his crutches. "Thank you everyone", he said through the  
thick smell of carnations, dahlias, and some yellow flower that seemed dead set on getting swallowed.

"I think it's better if we find a vase for them, Aki-chan", Matsuri-sensei said with a smile. "Fujimoto-kun has his hands full already."

An adorable blush crept up on Akuri-sensei's cheeks when she remembered the crutches: Shiro supported them awkwardly in the crook of his arm.  
She hurriedly excused herself, and more or less hid behind the bouquet after she had relieved him of it. Both female teachers left for the staff kitchen  
to find a vase and, after a quick reminder from Futotsuki-sensei, brew some tea.

"How is your nose, Fujimoto-kun?" Kohu-sensei asked once the English teacher was out of earshot. Why did she smile like that? Wasn't she, like,  
64 years old? Were 64 year-olds allowed to insinuate things like that…?

"Um…"

"It was probably worth it", Maki-sensei filled in with a chuckle when the awkwardness painted the tips of his ears red. "I'm sure you would pay  
attention in my class too, if I were younger and better equipped."

One of the few joys old people have left in life is to make young people uncomfortable; and by the age of 60, they have all the experience they  
need to make the most of it. Enough to make the red heat spread from Shiro's ears to his cheeks.

"Not bad, to make young men blush at your age, Maki-kohai", Kohu-sensei tittered merrily and patted her approval on her colleague's shoulder.  
"Ah, poor Fujimoto-kun: it's not easy to be a man."

"So many drawbacks right from birth", the history teacher concluded with an impish glimmer in her eyes that completely jammed Shiro's speech  
mechanism.

"That's why we call them the yokai yakuza." Toshio-sensei appeared behind the two old ladies with a wide grin and a tray full of teacups. "She was just  
as bad when I was a student", he informed, nodding his head in Maki-sensei's direction. "But prettier to look at."

An incredulous smile grew on Shiro's lips as Toshio-sensei retreated from the mock slaps and began laying the high-legged, Western table for tea.  
Teachers were completely different when they weren't teaching…

"Now, regale us with the tale behind this miracle", Watanabe-sensei said as they all seated themselves while Akuri-sensei poured them tea. The  
humongous flower bouquet spilled over the edges of a deep tureen on the middle of the table. "How did you convince Sir Pheles to wear sensible  
clothing?"

"Well, he's a demon: he loves gambling. I bet that I could go longer without smoking than he could go without manga, anime and games. No way  
he could win that."

A tidal wave of giggles and snorting chuckles – and a weird, hiccupping laughter from Matsuri-sensei – swept through the break room.

"I knew it! Hahahaha! With all those children's toys he keeps on his desk!"

"_He_ keeps-?" Akuri-sensei, who was by far the youngest of the teachers, looked from one to the other in confusion. "I thought they belonged to  
his children…?"

There was an abrupt silence, punctuated by each and every teacher displaying a face of deep, heart-freezing terror.

"Miniature Pheleses: god help us all…"

"Imagine their chattering."

"Imagine their _clothing_."

"Imagine the extra hours of unpaid babysitting."

"Look at it from the bright side", Goggles-sensei grinned, painting the picture of a maniacal killer on her damaged features. "Great practice for the  
students."

When all tears were wiped and all cramping stomachs at ease, Akuri-sensei shyly returned to the matter:

"But, if he doesn't have children…? I'm sure I saw little children's drawings on his desk once."

"Don't you know, Aki-chan?" Ando-sensei said, wearing a much brighter look on his face than before. "Sir Pheles always draws on the back of the  
protocol at meetings: that's why he looks so concentrated."

Akuri-sensei looked even cuter with laughter tinting her cheeks pink – and her chest bounced in a most inviting way. Unfortunately, the sight of  
her now conjured up images of Shiro's history teacher…

"Still, he was a lot more concentrated than we were at this last meeting", Goggles-sensei chuckled into her teacup. "You did a great job there,  
Fujimoto-kun. He should wear clothes like that more often."

"He really should. For forty years I've seen him wear nothing but that ghastly clown costume: I never thought I would witness something like this  
before I retire."

"There is another tale behind this miracle that I would like to hear." Futotsuki-sensei always looked, and sounded, so very calm: Shiro couldn't quite  
fuse that impression with the irritated hanging-blockhead-students-by-their-eyelids-sensei he had eavesdropped on. "And that is the tale of how a  
teenage boy earned the respect of a centuries-old demon."

The statement was met with a chorus of low hums and nods, and Shiro instantly wished he were someplace else.

"I don't know about respect…" He scratched the back of his head and tried not to squirm under their eyes. "Most of the time we just get on each  
other's nerves, and make sport of it. That's how the bet came about. That's how most things come about. I figure…" Shiro wet his lips, not sure  
what words to put on it. "I treat him the same as I would treat anyone else, and he- Well, obviously, I don't know what he's like around other people,  
but he pretty much acts the same towards me as I do towards him. If anything, we share a mutual disrespect for each other. We seem to…" Shiro  
fumbled for words as if they were windblown leaves. "…fit together." Wrong words. "I mean, we make odd friends, but good friends. That's it", he  
concluded awkwardly. "That's the tale behind the miracle."

They all looked at him as if they hadn't understood a word. Well, he wasn't sure he had understood explanation himself.

"That… is something I never thought I would witness before I retire", Kohu-sensei said with soft amazement, cup forgotten in her hand halfway  
to her mouth.

"Me neither: Futotsuki-senpai, are you sure he isn't related to your clan?"

"I'll be damned." Toshio-sensei's large, calloused Knight's hand landed on Futotsuki-sensei's shoulder. "You were right: a demon charmer he is."

"A what?" Astonishment is easy to recognise, but it's harder to determine whether the cause for it is something good or bad.

"It is what it sounds like, Fujimoto-kun", the Tamer teacher said with a reassuring look. "Someone with a natural talent for handling demons. I said  
it the first lesson we had together, remember? You have the makings of an excellent Tamer, and an exceptional exorcist. What I saw between you  
and Sir Pheles at the meeting with my clan was nothing short of a miracle. In six semesters, you have come closer to him than we have in twenty,  
thirty, or even forty years. We", he gestured at the staff of teachers, "teach what demons are, what they do, how they can be fought; all from a  
human perspective. But _you_", he leaned towards Shiro with a proud smile, as if sharing a treasured secret. "You understand demons as a demon  
would, and that makes you exceptional. That makes you someone even Sir Pheles would respect, and makes you unlike any other student we  
have at True Cross Academy. It is a gift, a true gift, and an asset that exorcists worldwide will envy you."

Each well-meant word was a bullet ricocheting with jarring dissonance against the truth he kept shielded in his heart. Fujimoto Shiro, Satan's  
vessel: unlike any other student at the Academy indeed.

"You honour me, Futotsuki-sensei", he said through an empty smile, steeling his façade against the admiring gazes that shone on him: shielding  
the shadow of his mind against the sun. "You all do. Thank you."

A smile is a dagger: a slow dagger, slipping in between your ribs, not noticed until it strikes your heart.

"_I just never thought… the smile would be my own..._" The weight of loneliness is heaviest in a crowd of people, and heavier still when the crowd  
applauds the act you put up to hide it: heaviest of all are the corners of your mouth, when you keep the act going. The slowest death is the  
smile that kills you every time you wear it. "_Does everything you say come true, Midori-chan?_"


	71. 71: The clothes make the man

**A/N: I had to do this.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

Seeing is believing, they say. Not that he was _that_ curious. Mephisto was apparently not sulking over the lost bet, and Shiro had questions that needed  
to be asked: in all, plenty of reasons to pay a visit to the large, classy office. Plenty of reasons; none being that he was curious to see if Mephisto  
really looked _that _good in normal clothes.

"Oi. What spell have you worked on the teachers, you old goat?" he greeted as he pushed one of the double doors open with his shoulder.

"I can only think of the one called 'salary', but other than that: none", came the answer: not from behind the desk, but from the panorama windows  
overlooking most of True Cross Town.

Shiro blinked. He shouldn't be surprised anymore. He'd seen Mephisto the Demon King, Mephisto the Failed Chef, Mephisto the Pampered Dog… Weird  
as they were, clashing as they did, those had been perfectly real sides of Mephisto: _this_… this wasn't Mephisto.

This was someone who could actually grab the spot as The Most Desirable Man in Europe and East Asia. Without even breaking a sweat.

"Like what you see~?"

Definitely Mephisto when he opened his mouth, though; not to mention he gestured at himself like one presenting a five-star buffet.

"And for all your talk of dressing properly, you keep that hidden at the far back of your wardrobe?" Shiro stared at the tailor-fitted black suit that  
cut his slender shape a most complimenting silhouette against the window. Burgundy shirt, black tie, black dress shoes and white spatterdashes… The  
clothes certainly make the man. "Seriously, did you get anything done at the personnel meeting? As I've understood it, all the female teachers were  
busy gawking at your waist and legs and god knows what."

And Shiro had the strangest idea… that maybe that was the reason Mephisto dressed the way he did. That clownish outfit drew one's attention like a  
nail in the eye, but at least the weirdness of it let you keep your head: when he dressed like this, without that disturbance to throw the effect off, there  
was a magnetizing air about him that drew your attention and derailed your thoughts at the same time.

"Oh, I knew where their eyes lingered~" Look at that smug face, when he came sauntering over from the windows: and how he _walked_…

"_Those ugly pants really hide it well normally…_" He walked with Midori's smooth, subconscious sensuality, and the innate elegance of a king. "_I don't  
hear a word he's saying, that's kinda nice… I should probably snap out of whatever-he's-doing, though…_"

"-can blame them?" Mephisto's amused lilt phased into his ears. "Indeed, the smell of pheromones in that room was so thick I had to turn the air  
conditioning on. Poor things, tied like dogs on leashes too short for them to reach the bone~"

"And Nao-sensei is probably off buying a camera", Shiro chuckled, hopping forward on his crutches to occupy one of the least antique and least  
brick-hard chairs. "Now I know why you dress like a clown normally: couldn't run a business looking like this."

Yes, of course. Of course. Dressed for business, eh? Wearing his principal's uniform, he looked like a clown: wearing this, he looked like a devil.  
Sleek, black deceit robed in perfect propriety. Couldn't run a business with the Vatican looking like that.

"Looking like…?" the demon led on with a flirtatious smirk: dog or humanoid, being stroked along the grain was something he appreciated.

Shiro assumed a sceptical look. Saying Mephisto wasn't handsome in that outfit would be lying, but admitting that he was would make his head so  
large every passage in the Academy would have to be converted into double doors.

"Right: I will only say this once, so perk up those big ears of yours." Shiro was, after all, there to ask help: stroking the dog a bit before he asked  
couldn't hurt. He braced himself in the chair… "You look really good in that." …and Mephisto's ego filled the office like the blaring of a brass orchestra:  
loud, piercing, and drowning out everything else within a fifty meter radius. Really, it took some effort not to burst out laughing. "Now, if you wouldn't  
mind getting back down on earth, I've got stuff I need to ask."

Mephisto disappeared, and reappeared lounging in a chair right in front of him, snug and comfortable in his bolstering Ego.

"Do tell…?"

"The imprint", Shiro commenced in business tones. "Can it change me physically?"

"No." And all the same, he raised a cautioning finger. White gloves? Classy bastard. "However, your imprint is not like the ones observed in the  
Futotsuki, and diverging effects can not be ruled out." His wrist tipped the finger forward to point the question at Shiro: "I take it you have reason  
to suspect it would have changed you physically?"

Shiro related his wrestling with the tengu during the attack on Kiridani Ryokan, and how he had not only broken its neck but also cracked its beak  
with his bare hands.

"I shouldn't be able to do that." He held up his hands in front of him. "And ever since, I've had this dull ache in my fingers. The imprint was the  
only explanation I could think of."

"That is… interesting." The demon rose to examine his hands, possibilities flitting across the green eyes as they scrutinized them closely.  
Mephisto's gloved fingers turned and pushed and prodded, and Shiro confirmed where there was pain and where there wasn't. "Interesting indeed."  
In the blink of an eye, the demon's fingers had left his hand for his wrist, and pulled him up from the chair and into a one-armed embrace. The  
other hand let go, and rose in a familiar gesture. "In the mood for a little trip~?"

*poof!*


	72. 72: King and castle

**A/N:**

**Dear "hi"**  
**I can't reply to reviews left anonymously, but I wanted to say that yours really brought a smile to my lips amidst the adrenaline-fuelled  
panic of exams. ^_^' It makes me truly happy that you – and so many others! – enjoy the story; and believe me, I would spend every  
waking moment writing if I could. As it is, I write on the bus, on the train, during lunch break, every night before drifting off to sleep  
and every morning before I go to school. But I also study chemistry, physics, maths, and biology at a pace three times the normal, so  
when exams start raining down I can't write as much as I'd like to. ^_^' Any torture is entirely unintentional (…for the most part). ;9  
I hope you can be patient with me.**

**/ Dimwit**

**Special thanks to Zeitdieb, for helping out with German and for the glorious **_**Serving You, Serving Me!**_** one-shot! Perfect idea, perfectly  
executed~ x3 All you people should go read it. Like, now. It's hilarious, it's clever, it's sweet, and it's all I could ever ask of a  
ShiroxMephisto fic~ ;9**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

"Gueh, I hate travelling like that." If Mephisto hadn't held a supporting arm around him, Shiro would've been on the ground by now. "Where are  
we?"

Outdoors, that much was for certain. It was dark, and light rain quickly turned the warm summer night into a chilly, miserable place to be. Shiro  
untangled himself from the demon and let his eyes wander.

"What is this place…?"

He squinted up at the towering shape through the raindrops on his glasses: a huge building cut its black silhouette into clouds lit faintly by city light.

"Wawel castle is its name: one of the finest cultural treasures Poland has to offer – that and _ptasie mleczko_. Not that you are normally inclined to  
follow advice of any kind", he added with a meaning glance, "but I strongly recommend that you stay where you are for a while."

Mephisto snapped his fingers again, and the rain-dimmed light reflected in spotless glass and polished metal: a gigantic pendulum hung in the sky  
over the castle, topped by an old-fashioned pocket watch of same proportions.

"I ask you a simple yes-or-no question, and you spirit me away to Poland?"

But Mephisto was already out of earshot, carried up to the top of the pendulum by his bat familiar. Four more glimmering shapes – which, after a  
quick wiping of his glasses, turned out to be huge skeleton keys – hovered around it at each compass point. The instant Mephisto touched down, the  
machinery of the watch began turning slowly.

"Acht, sieben, sechs…" There was a compression of the air around the castle, a shift in density that made Shiro's eardrums quiver and hurt. And then  
it reached him, from far-away distances not measured in meters or feet: the muted rustle of Earth breathing. "Fünf, vier, drei…" The arms on the  
clock face turned _backwards._ "Zwei, eins, null: Zurückdrehen!"

Shiro couldn't see anything in the dark, but he heard the ghostly sounds of mortar crumbling and stone shifting in the castle, as if it were a living  
creature stretching in its sleep. Ah, no; not sound. Not real sound, carried by compressions in the air: those were echoes, transported through the  
distant memories of the castle itself.

"Very little change since then, I admit." The rain stopped abruptly: Mephisto had landed beside him, and held the pink umbrella over Shiro's head  
while he admired his work. "But it's the inside that matters, as humans are so fond of telling themselves. Shall we?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Mephisto halted, gave the matter some thought, and snapped his fingers: Shiro's crutches joined their company in a cloud of pink smoke.

Shiro followed him through a grand archway that seemed more like a small tunnel: and halfway through, they passed _something_.

The best way of describing it was probably the feeling of walking from a sweltering hot summer day into a heavily air-conditioned room; or from a  
freezing winter night into the organic warmth of a house heated by wood. Something washed over Shiro's body, shocked it on a molecular level,  
and left it with the sensation that it had transitioned an invisible barrier and ended up someplace vastly different.

Out on the courtyard on the other side, Mephisto brought his umbrella down: the rain had stopped. And it was mid-day.

"_Sure, he's the King of Time, but…_" But time travelling was only done in manga and anime. "_This is freakin' insane…_"

Sunlight warmed the wear-smoothened pavement under their feet, bounced off the gilded tip of the umbrella, and painted the courtyard arcades  
an eye-watering white.

"Okay, that was cool", he admitted, spotting the smug, inquiring look on Mephisto's face. "When is this…?"

"Sixteen hundred and four: Sigismund the third is on the throne, and had the great taste to commission a Baroque style for the reparations after  
the fire a few years ago."

…freakin' insane.

"Like that pocket dimension of yours, but a pocket in time? Around the castle?" Shiro's head turned every direction to take in what the world looked  
like in the seventeenth century.

"A tremendously simplified explanation, but yes. A pocket of sorts."

"Can you do the same thing the other way? Like, winding us into the future?"

That would be even cooler. He had, though he wouldn't admit it, checked who Jules Verne was after Mephisto had frowned upon his lack of education.  
And if Verne wrote about going to the moon nearly a hundred years before it happened, then maybe in the future there would be things that only  
existed in fiction today.

"_A _future", the demon corrected. "There are infinite possible futures branching from the present, each one shaped by choices made in the fleeting  
moment you call now."

Shiro understood that. Part of it. On a vague, theoretical level: as soon as the human mind is confronted with the concept of "infinite", thoughts tend  
not to go too far into understanding.

"So… you can't travel to the future?"

"Who do you take me for? I can travel to any future", he snorted. "It's bothersome, however. Even more bothersome to explain to a linear mind. The  
path to the future is strewn with endless forks, and constantly shifting such: arriving at _exactly_ the future you want is nigh impossible. The past is  
much easier: each dimension has only one, and it is fixed."

The porch swung open for them on heavy, creaking hinges, and they walked right into the castle. Not a single servant to greet them. Not a single  
guard to question what the two most bizarre guests were doing there.

And it was so quiet. Their footfalls echoed strangely in the painted, coffered ceilings of the lifeless rooms and gave a not entirely pleasant feeling  
that there was someone walking behind them, even if the castle… was completely devoid of life.

"Looks like a place you could live in", Shiro observed as they walked through yet another extravagant room, where the tiled floor was like a mirror  
and the carvings on the stone hearth reached higher than the doors.

"So I did, for a short time." With a snap of his fingers, all the candelabras flared up to light their way through a grand ceremonial hall hung with  
tapestries that each must've weighed at least twice as much as Shiro. "It was quite pleasant, as long as you had your own chef. The Polish cuisine  
is so…" A grimace marred his attempts at maintaining his refined manners. "…Polish."

"Awful?"

"No – and yes. The food tastes wonderful, but looks like it has been eaten once before."

Shiro laughed aloud, and felt the eyes of gossiping maidens, working carpenters and Oriental sultans turn to him from the woven images. That wasn't  
natural silence.

* * *

By the time Shiro neared the top of a long – far too long, if you were on crutches – staircase, he was breathing heavily. Mephisto simply waited at  
the second floor, one hand on his hip and the other on the handle of the umbrella, whose tip rested against the floor: put a frame around him and  
he would look just like the castle's other royal paintings.

"Think you could light me a smoke like that?" Shiro snapped his fingers the way Mephisto had done to light the candelabras. "C'mon, it's not your  
house", he tried, but knew it was a lost cause when that inrun-frown formed over the green eyes. Oh well. If the cause is lost anyway: "For a cripple  
facing fate uncertain: have you not the heart in you to ease my agony a tad before the final verdict falls…?"

"Oh my; the beast can talk?" Mephisto picked up on his theatrics with feigned astonishment. "And where is that nimble tongue when you aren't  
making mockery of it?" he asked, tilting his head to the side with an amused look.

"At the far back of the wardrobe, with your suit", Shiro smiled back and hopped up the last few steps. "Right, you unhelpful bastard: can I at least  
have my lighter back?" Poofing his lighter away had become so much habit that the demon did it subconsciously every time Shiro entered his office:  
Shiro had a vague memory that he had thought of switching pocket. He really should do that.

"Straight back into the wardrobe, is it?" Mephisto tapped a forefinger on his lip contemplatively. "We have one more flight of stairs to ascend; after  
that, you can have your lighter back."

"There's a catch, isn't there?" Shiro stated with an eyebrow raised. "I don't trust that smile of yours." Especially not after his humiliating loss in the  
bet: the only thing Mephisto was ever generous with was payback.

"And wisely so~" And with that, the demon turned on his heel and led the way through the next line of lavish rooms. "Do you find anything amiss with  
Wawel castle, Shiro?"

"There's no people", he said, casting glances left and right at huge portraits of stiff, royal Poles that ought to live in the castle right now.

"Quite so, quite so. Any idea why…?"

"'cause they're all- _that's _the staircase?" Shiro stared at Mephisto, and at the very high steps of the stairs behind the door he had opened. "_Oh you  
smug little bastard…_" Not just a staircase: a tower staircase. On crutches. "…any chance I could get you to poof me to the top?"

"You certainly could; but then you don't get your lighter." He tipped his upper body in a mock bow, accompanied by a sparkling grin. "I'll hear your  
answer at the top~"

*poof!*

Shiro started climbing the stairs with a stoic promise that he wouldn't let Mephisto get any fun out of this.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ptasie mleczko **– "unobtainable delicacy", a chocolate-covered meringue manufactured by the Wedel confectionary company (whose logo really does look like Willy Wonka's) since 1936.


	73. 73: Guesswork galore

**A/N: *Reward to myself for having written the first of three exams.***

**Well… guesses, guesses, and guesses. I make a lot of guesses in this chapter. ^_^' For those who like anecdotes and their possible  
applications to AnE, this will be a nice read.**

**...I didn't expect there would be any need for this, but let it hereby be known that the verses in this chapter are written by me: written**  
**to look as if they were from _Faust_, but most definitely composed by me. ^_^ (To those who thought I quoted something: that's**  
**very flattering, but it's all fake. x') ) Whenever I quote Nietzsche or Sun Tzu or others, I leave a little note of it at the bottom.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

Shiro finished climbing the stairs with stumble-bruised shins a snarled promise that Mephisto would pay dearly for this.

"Lighter. Now. Man, I need a smoke…!"

"Look at you, all flushed and short of breath: perfect." Oh yes, bloody perfect; Shiro had half a mind to wipe his forehead with Mephisto's silk tie.  
"You can have the lighter, as promised." He felt the cool weight of the lighter reappear in his trouser pocket. "But I'm afraid smoking is out of the  
question."

"You think so? 'cause I think you knew that well beforehand, asshole", Shiro grumbled.

"Your assumption is quite correct, although your language is not."

Shiro was not in the best of moods, but he would admit that the room was not a suitable place for open flame.

The top of the tower held a laboratory: the kind of which you could imagine in horror stories. But everything was new. Brand new. No lingering crust  
of dried blood, no rust-eaten scalpels littering smeared examination tables: everything was neat and tidy and… old. It was centuries since instruments  
like those had been in use, and yet they looked like they had been manufactured yesterday.

There were wooden racks from floor to ceiling containing empty vials, and other racks of full vials with freshly scribbled labels. Beakers and metal  
utensils were kept neatly organized in cupboards with stainless glass doors, and bright sunlight glinted off steel armature and polished stone floor.

"You were faster than I had expected", Mephisto said over his shoulder: he stood at a workbench with at least a dozen vials and instruments  
gyrating around him, each busy with its own part of some experiment. "Be good and strip while I add the finishing touches."

"What?" No, he must've heard that wrong…

"Strip. Undress. Remove articles of clothing from your person." Mephisto swaggered across the room with one hand on his hip and a smug  
trademark smirk. "Purely for scientific reasons, of course~" He ran Shiro's tie between his fingers in a manner not even remotely scientific.

"Of course it is. And in purely scientific interest", he yanked his tie out of the demon's grasp, "I wanna know why. You're asking me to strip-"

"That would be convenient, yes."

"-and we're in seventeenth century Poland-"

"Quite correct."

"-and how the fuck does that have anything to do with my imprint?"

"Heated your temper along with your body, did it~? Why, we are here to determine what is happening to your body, of course; and the examination  
will yield more reliable readings if it has just recently been active." He gestured at the tower room the stood in. "This laboratory is better equipped  
than any modern-day facility I have access to for performing an examination of that kind. By the way…" Mephisto tilted Shiro's head up with a finger  
under his chin and looked closely at him. "You are out of breath, but you aren't _fatigued_ – am I correct? Your legs and arms still feel fresh and strong?"

"Yeah."

"I may already have an idea… but I want to be absolutely certain." He whipped around and returned to the workbench and the… stuff… that he was  
assembling. "Take a seat once you have removed shirt and trousers, the preparations are almost complete. I will also require a blood sample, so  
do make use of your Doctor training while you're at it."

Seat? The only seat in the room was the large examination table in the middle. It came with some highly suspicious leather straps for securing,  
well, say, a human body.

"Purely scientific…" Shiro huffed, leaned his crutches against the table and started undoing his shirt buttons. "What is this place anyway? How can  
this", he threw a glance around the laboratory, "be better equipped than a modern-day hospital?"

"Recall that question I gave you earlier, to ponder while climbing?"

"_No answers, only more questions: isn't that just typically you?_" Shiro tossed his shirt and tie over a wooden armature for rigging up vials in  
junction, and picked among the metal instruments on a tray for one that could substitute a syringe. "You can rewind time, but not for the dead",  
he said, settling for an early version of a scalpel. "Have you got any antiseptics?" Watching Mephisto at work was entertainment in its own right:  
all his materials hovered obediently around him, like a swarm of glittering hummingbirds. "_I never pictured him doing anything but paperwork…_"  
And with the practiced ease of a concert pianist, gloved fingers picked vials and tubes out of the air without ever forcing his eyes to stray from his  
work. It was like being smack in the middle of a fairy ta-

Shiro was called back to the present - or past? - by a bottle that nudged his arm. The label was tastefully unintelligible, but the sharp smell of  
surgical alcohol was impossible to miss.

"Thanks. …how come you can do _that _when you can't even bake cupcakes?"

"And who are you to talk? You never even tried my cupcakes." Mephisto added another drop of something purple into something pale blue.

"I'd rather try that", Shiro said flatly, and nodded at the test tube whose contents now gave off a sharp, agitated hiss accompanied by fizzy bubbles.

"Philistine." Something soft, but with high velocity, hit Shiro in the back of his head: a small roll of linen cloth. "No sense of manners, no taste in  
clothes, no taste in cuisine." The demon clicked his tongue dismissively against his teeth and snapped his fingers; across the room, the door of a  
heavy cupboard swung open. "I have known Vikings better cultured than you, and their sense of culture was rather crude – not to mention  
unhygienic. I'm almost done; are you?"

A clean, empty beaker came gliding out of the cupboard to place itself neatly on the examination table. Imagine being able to do everything like  
that: never rummage around drawers to find what you were looking for, never take one magazine out of the bookshelf and have a dozen others fall  
out on the floor, never-

"It's simply not fair that demons have magic", he complained as he laid his scalpel by the small glass vessel and wet a strip of cloth with antiseptics.  
It had never bothered him before, that humans had to do everything by hand, but since he'd gotten to know Mephis- "_Why… would he take an interest  
in alchemy, when he has magic…?_"

"Neither is it fair that only humans get their own bodies", he pointed out. "Were you done answering the question…?" The drawled lilt expected Shiro  
to add something more, to have thought one step ahead, but gave no hint as to what he should have thought of.

"Sorry, I was too busy not falling down that I didn't think any further."

"I didn't intend for you to think any further while walking up~" The guessing game was still on, huh? "One thread at a time the weft unfolds: this room  
itself is the other piece of the puzzle." Mephisto gestured around them while hovering the finished equipment and chemicals to a metal stand, of sorts,  
beside the table. "I can rewind time, but I can't bring back the dead: so…?"

Shiro cut a little deeper into the crook of his arm than he had intended, and blood welled up in generous amounts.

"You turned to alchemy." Red drops trickled into the beaker, and all the warmth in his body with it. "To find a way to do it." Oh, the pieces fit together,  
alright. And the picture they formed made his skin crawl. "You experimented with resurrecting the dead." And that table he was sitting on had been-

"Why not use the proper name for things?" Mephisto led on. "Show you deserve the grade Maki-san gave you~"

Shiro deliberately focused on getting the blood into the beaker and not beside it when he spoke:

"Artificial life research."

"Good~" Mephisto confirmed in a tone that did nothing to ease the chill in Shiro's bones. "What is true power?" He pointed the question at him as if  
it were a rapier. "Is it to have at beck and call the legions of Gehenna, that would swarm the land like locusts, striking down resistance with the  
force of a tidal wave and the unerring efficiency of plague? Is it to control the flow of information, to dam and release at will the precious drops of  
knowledge, and enslave the minds of the masses in shackles of ignorance and lies? Is it to be able to lay the world in ruin", he murmured in a voice  
like dark chocolate slowly melting, "with a mere snap of one's fingers?" The sound of his middle finger sliding off his thumb sent ripples of chills over  
Shiro's skin. "Demons are the agents of destruction; we warp Creation into crookedness, locate the seed of rot in every thing and make it fester. But  
_true _power", a vicious spark lit his eyes as he spread his arms wide for the announcement. "True power lies in _creation: _to seize from the realms of  
dream an Idea and weave from the thread of Thought itself the fabric to give it flesh and form! To weld the essence of the universe unto the winged  
breath of consciousness, and release into the flow of time a frail, fluttering instant with infinity locked within its confines: _that_", he said, pausing  
to address an audience unseen, "is power." The stone walls of the laboratory soaked up his words in reverent silence, until he picked up anew,  
coming down from the ecstatic high: "Though I can mould and shape nigh anything to my liking, even power like mine comes with limitations:  
human imagination", he leaned forward, intimately close, and poked a finger in Shiro's forehead, "does not. Find the right mind, give it the right  
means, and there is no limit that can't be transcended. Michał Sędziwój had the mind, but not the means; until I told him of the ley-lines that cross  
here in Wawel castle." He swept his arms out as if addressing the entire world at once. "The very lifeblood of Assiah itself, pulsing right underneath  
our feet. A place for miracles to be worked and limits obsolete to be scraped from the book of law; a place for life to be created, or restored."

"_…I should've known it was you. Only a demon would do something like that._"

Shiro had read about it: what little there was. Artificial life research. Not only was it forbidden; it was a taboo so atrocious that the world had buried  
its memory in the ashes of purging fire, and left only a few lines in the books of exorcism history to testify that it had ever existed:

_It is the science of giving life to that which is dead. It is a science that claims the power of God to perform the work of the Devil. It calls shreds of  
the human soul back from death, and fuses them together with a demon so that the two, like a chimera, become one: but it is shreds only, and  
the creature they give life to is not a real human. Therefore, artificial life and its research is the gravest, most unforgivable crime one can commit  
against God and against mankind._

Meanwhile Mephisto tugged off the white glove, one finger at a time; pricked his forefinger on the sharp thumbnail… and dabbed it at the cut in  
Shiro's arm.

"Hey, what are you-?" Before Shiro got any further, a tingling itch bit his arm as the cut… closed. There was still a tender pink line, as of fresh scar  
tissue, but no bleeding.

"Checking for response", Mephisto informed, and licked blood off his finger; his own cut had healed completely in less than a second. "Of which there  
is plenty." He took Shiro's arm by the elbow and prodded the skin gently with his thumb. "Instead of your immune system reacting against the  
foreign cells, it identifies them as the body's own." He let go of his arm. "It seems we've become compatible physically as well." He chose those  
words deliberately, bloody pervert, he _definitely _chose them deliberately. "Still, a few more tests are needed to further determine the nature of  
your condition."

Shiro's eyes followed the lithe, black form as it brought the blood sample over to the vials he had prepared. A demon. Not Mephisto, but a demon:  
a creature that would stake the lives of women and children in a gamble to achieve his ends, and infuse demons into their corpses to surpass limits  
that didn't agree with him.

"_That's what human lives are to you? Puppets and playthings?_" Bloodletting or the magnitude of a world tilting unsteadily: it was an unsettled Shiro  
that kicked off his shoes and reluctantly unbuttoned his trousers. "_The more human they look, the less human they are: right as always, Midori-chan._"  
His thoughts skipped like a scratched record. No, Mephisto wasn't human. Had never been human. Had never had human morals. "_…aren't I the one  
in the wrong, expecting him to be human when he isn't?_"

Mephisto looked human, more or less. He acted human – more or less. Because he had learnt to. His mimicry was close to perfection, but an act is ever  
only an act. Mephisto had the ways of human conduct memorised like lines of a play in a foreign language; a set of sounds that he could voice without  
understanding, lyrics that made perfect sense to a listener but held no meaning in his pointy ears.

No one knows the human heart like a demon: but no demon has ever understood the human heart.

"_He knows all the buttons to push and all the strings to pull, but he doesn't understand…_" ...didn't understand the things about humans that can't be  
explained by logic; the things that are so fundamentally obvious to a human that they are beyond logic.

Shiro looked with fresh eyes at Mephisto's back while the demon mixed blood and chemicals: a visitor from another world, happily taking apart everything  
he came across to learn more about Assiah and its inhabitants.

"_He's curious._" There was a strange… innocence… to the thought. "_Curious without any true understanding of human right and wrong. Like a kid._" A kid  
centuries old that could bend time and space: innocent curiosity made infinitely lethal. "You really did it, then?" he asked, debating philosophical  
questions with himself that he really didn't feel he was up to. "Resurrected the dead?"

"Reanimated." Mephisto raised a cautioning finger to the difference. "God is in the detail, they say: and so is the devil – oh, the things you humans say  
at times, not understanding the weight of your words!" he snickered, as if sharing some private joke. "One can bring life back to a body, that isn't hard:  
to bring the person back… ah, that Idea was smothered in its cradle."

And, while he magically attached a great number of copper wires to the cylinder of metal disks that he had built; as if it was the most natural thing  
in the world…

"'tis vain, they say, to wage pursuit of such endeavour;  
to steal from dust of dust the spark of vestal breath  
and con that lease laid down by Law that changeth never;  
for high and low alike, the price of life is death"

It was a most peculiar one-man performance… but with a lead actor like him, there wasn't room for more than one on stage.

"'tis vain, I won't contest, but nonetheless entices  
a certain type of mind from fancy to cabal;  
whatever sway Law holds, for one so fond of vices,  
doth fall to fault, as did the ilk of man in thrall"

Shiro knew nothing of theatre and performance, nor did he need to: Mephisto could hold any audience spellbound with that voice, and fill any stage  
with his presence no matter how large.

"A fickle lass, fair Chance a faithless mistress maketh,  
that, charmed by chaster hymns 'cross tipping scales she trod,  
the Ring of promise from the Fisherman did taketh  
and jilt the Devil that would do the work of God"

"Huh…" He didn't really know what to say – plain words seemed to hide in embarrassment in the company of that monologue. He settled for sound.  
Sometimes sound better expresses what you mean.

* * *

It was like any examination by any doctor: a little uncomfortable, a little tense, a little-

Oh screw that; doctors didn't have claws. Doctors didn't attach wires to your skin with resin-like stuff that smelt strange – well, maybe some did – and  
they definitely didn't _enjoy _their work the way Mephisto did. Sure, he had more knowledge than anyone of the effects demonic presence could have  
on a human body, dead or living, but he had absolutely _no _sense of-

"You're very close", Shiro informed him dryly.

Mephisto's former expertise on alchemical procedure was completely poofed away, and he took his merry time deciding whether to attach the wires  
there, or maybe there, or maybe on some other patch of skin he wanted and excuse to run his clawed fingers over. That was aggravating enough;  
but when he had worked his way up to Shiro's torso, he was so close the still-long tress of purple fringe tickled his chin.

"You don't seem overly bothered." Heavy-lidded eyes came into view as the fringe was shifted out of the way. "On the contrary", one sharp nail  
traced a suggestive beeline down his chest, "your heart rate says you'd like me to be much closer than this~"

That was _too _close. Shiro's fingers wrapped around his hair curl and tugged. Hard.

"Ow! That _hurt_!" And did bring Shiro back his personal space, too. "Some way of thanking one who tries to help you!"

"One who tries to help himself to some rather unscientific research, you mean." He quirked an unimpressed eyebrow at the demon that clutched his  
head and curl protectively. "You can make it a rule of thumb that if your curl is so close I can grab it, I will. Nice crocodile tears, by the way. And  
what do I do now?" He wiggled his feet demonstratively, but was careful not to move anything that might disturb the examination.

"You do nothing, you monkey."

"Nothing? …I might fall asleep." It had become habit, when he studied day and night, to sneak any catnap he could get: now, it seemed to have  
developed into a remarkable skill of falling asleep anywhere.

"You may, if you wish", he said with a smile, and poofed himself a large, cushioned chair to lounge in while he took down cryptic notes from a  
metronome-thing on the tray beside the table.

"Wipe that dirty look off your face, I'm not falling asleep", Shiro huffed, but it wasn't without a smile at the corners of his mouth. "There's things in  
here with more bite than permanent marker for you to play with if I do." And he was one pair of boxers away from being buck-naked: no falling asleep  
under those conditions. "You already had an idea of this", he picked up a bit more seriously. "How bad is it, you think?"

"If any of the blood samples turn black, we have reason to worry." The quill twirled pirouettes between Mephisto's fingers. "It's unlikely that you  
would have survived this long with autogenous miasma poisoning, however, so odds are that what we find will only be a minor inconvenience."

"Minor inconvenience", he repeated flatly. "That sounds like fancy-talk for rather shitty stuff."

"I believe the word you seek is 'euphemism'. There are degrees of severity, of course, but none so fatal that I can't make a potion to counter the  
deterioration."

"Deterioration", Shiro grimaced. "Did it ever strike you that picking pretty words to hide nasty stuff might be more unsettling than actually saying out  
loud that things will go to hell?"

Mephisto cocked his head to the side with the sweetest smile a couple of fangs will allow.

"Really now; why do you think demons value the art of wordsmithing so highly?" The tip of the quill left a trail of goose bumps on Shiro's arm. "The  
word is mightier than the sword because it pierces the heart through any armour." The airy touch of the feather slid languidly up to nip at his neck.  
"It's the hammer that bends the unyielding steel, and the delicate tap that traces fine embossing into its surface." Eerie. Eerie in a way that made  
something deeply human in Shiro instinctively recoil from danger. "It can be forged into the key for any lock, or chains that no key can loosen."  
Shiro turned his head away on reflex when the quill crawled up under his chin. "In the mouth of a master smith, it becomes a chisel that can shape  
souls."

There was a pause, and a dark glimmer deep in the green eyes that posed questions Shiro didn't want to ask: _Am I a master smith? Am I shaping  
you this very moment, for some distant purpose in a future only I can see?_

"_I must be insane._" He could understand people's worries. You don't make friends with a demon for the same reason you don't keep a tiger as a  
house cat. "_…then again, isn't life more valuable the closer you are to losing it?_" The world was full of lunatics parachuting off buildings and walking  
to the North pole: same need for kicks, different ways of getting them. "Does demon-wordsmithing include speaking in verse?" Thrills strummed his  
intestines, but outwardly he remained calm. Parachuter ready to jump. "Just wondering. You're the only one I've heard do that."

"Hmm, no, it isn't something demons generally do", he said, and noted down a reading on the parchment. "I think it was a habit I adopted in Assiah."

"I guess that makes you weird among both demons and humans… You're good at it, though. How come?"

"How come?" That tone. That twitch of the hair curl. There was no mistaking it: Shiro had stepped on another of those landmine-buttons that caused  
Mephisto to take offense for his ignorance. "How come _I _am good at verse and rhyme?" he snorted and marked the next reading with more force and  
flourish than the previous. "Was I not known to the Norsemen as Loke, the spirit of wile and wit; famed far and wide for speech sharper than  
tempered steel and sweeter than a lover's kiss? Was I not Hermes to the Greek; patron of poets and literature, with the winged words of wisdom  
leaping off my tongue?"

"Okay, okay, point taken: you're good with words." And had a tendency to never stop using them, if you didn't shut him up before the monologue  
gained magnitude.

"Not to mention good-looking~" the demon reminded, and made another of those one-eighty turnabouts in mood.

"You're never gonna let that go, are you?"

"Neither am I going to cease being good-looking – and adorable." And happy as a kid about it. "I will have to revise my opinion of you, Shiro: you  
have both tongue and taste, on the rare occasion they are out of the closet."

If Shiro had had any hand free and mobile, he would have smacked it over his own face.

"Spirit of wit and wile…" he groaned.

* * *

"My, how interesting…"

None of the blood samples had turned black, which was a relief; but with the examination completed, "interesting" was not the word Shiro wanted  
to hear.

"Last time you said that, I was told I could host Satan." Shiro shot a meaningful look at the demon that went over the readings once more. "Don't  
you dare drop something like that on me again."

His statement earned an amused chuckle from Mephisto.

"How about 'you now possess superhuman strength'?"

"For real?"

"Fufufufu look at that face!" The demon laughed with his whole, spindly body. "Have you decided on name and costume yet, Astro Boy?"

Shiro wiped expectation off his features and replaced it with a shamefaced glare. All men are boys on the inside, and all boys dream of having  
superpowers: likewise, all men would rather bite a bullet than admit that.

"You can put those ambitions to rest right away, Shiro: you won't be using that strength."

"You mean I actually _have _superhuman strength?" He had assumed it was just a joke, when Mephisto laughed like that.

"Yes – as improbable and impractical as that is; yes, you do." Both quill and parchment disappeared with a poof. "Quite unique, your degree of  
assimilation. I dismissed it as a passing afterglow when you sparred with me, but it seems permanent – a rather delightful way of being wrong,  
I do say. In the simplest way of putting it", he said when he finally noticed the look of get-on-with-it painted on Shiro's features, "your body is  
halfway between human and demon."

The words replayed in Shiro's mind. Very slowly. No, they still said the same thing: halfway between human and demon.

"What does that mean, exactly?" he asked, feeling as though his body had gone someplace else for a while to digest the information.

"Who knows?" he said in that disgustingly flippant manner that made Shiro itch to yank his curl again. "This is the first case in its kind, as far as  
my knowledge stretches: very much can be assumed and very little said for sure." Mephisto slipped his gloves back on. "A body changes in many  
ways when a demon takes up residence in it, and changes back when it leaves. You weren't possessed in the traditional sense, but it would seem  
your body changed as if you were; without fully changing back."

"Details." Shiro began detaching the wires from himself, and scrubbed off the stinking paste with linen cloth as he did. "The devil's in the details: in  
what way has it changed?"

"That would require insight in biochemical processes that I don't think you-"

"What you think doesn't really do me any good unless it comes out of your mouth: _details_", Shiro demanded, and realised his mistake the moment he  
had. He knew that look: it meant _manners_, and it wasn't going away unless complied with. "Tell me; please."

"That's more like it~ The human body is a peculiar contraption, able to exercise much greater physical strength than it is built for – why, had you  
used any more force on that tengu, the strain would have torn the muscles from your bones." He said it as if he were talking about some anime  
he had watched, but Shiro could feel the imagined pain – tearing muscle from bone? that must hurt like _hell_ – rip through his tissues. "To prevent  
such messy things, your nervous system is equipped with a set of safety circuits which serve to inhibit the strength of your muscles. When a body  
is possessed by a demon, these safety circuits are switched off to enable it to channel our strength without, so to speak, blowing a fuse. This places  
the body under great strain, but since we constantly regenerate damage, one thing balances out the other." Mephisto's head tilted to the side as  
he ran an analytical glance over Shiro from toe to head. "Some percentage of your safeties remain inactive since Deep Keep, allowing you to perform  
remarkable feats of strength – at the humble price of having your muscles and tendons snap. Fortunately, no such thing has happened. The damage  
done to your fingers is not all too grave, and will heal with no permanent ill-effects." His head tilted back straight on his neck when he met Shiro's  
eyes. "Detailed enough for you?"

"Yeah. Thanks." He curled and flexed his fingers, so very grateful that they would go back to normal. "So what now? I have to watch it so I don't  
overexert myself?"

"You mean we should leave you to your own devices…?"

"Something tells me you don't think that's a very good idea", Shiro deduced from the look of Utter Scepticism on the demon's face. "And I might be  
inclined to agree with you, depending on what your suggestion is."

"Spoken like a businessman~ A body can adapt, tendons can be strengthened: I will have Gokuro-san design a special training program for you, and  
if you follow it properly", Shiro didn't miss the special emphasis on that word, "you might be able to make use of that muscle force – to a certain  
extent. In either case, you need to acquaint yourself anew with your body or you will most definitely damage it."

"Sounds good enough to me." Maybe too soon to give up that superhero costume…? Completely insane, this was – but he wouldn't deny it was at  
the same time pretty cool. "Funny thing, that imprint… Wonder what other effects we'll see from it?" Shiro chuckled as he pulled the shirt on and  
retrieved his glasses. "Maybe I'll start speaking in verse?"

"Maybe you will learn to do a tie?" Mephisto suggested, without much hope to it, when he once again had to tie the garment for him.

"Maybe I'll be able to grow a beard?" Shiro pondered, having Mephisto's trademark goatee at eye level.

"A rather messy and unkempt one, judging by your hair."

"Pff, you probably comb that goatee smooth."

"Don't be ridiculous; it's natural."

"Oh I've seen your natural hair in the morning", Shiro grinned with one eyebrow cocked at the affronted look on Mephisto's features. "Very elegant."

"The same could be said of your way of getting out of bed in the morning", the demon countered effortlessly.

"That isn't half as embarrassing as sleeping with a unicorn plushie."

To his surprise, Mephisto chuckled – no, _giggled_. At first Shiro thought he had made a bow out of his tie, or done some other silly thing, but-

"No risk of you speaking in verse, with the little thought you put behind your words", he chuckled through a grin. "Anyone who heard you would  
get the impression you have observed my habits in bed quite often."

Shiro ran the conversation over in his head… and cracked up.

"Shit, that really does- pfwahahaha oh god it sounds so wrong!" He covered his eyes with his hand in embarrassment, but couldn't stop laughing.  
"Oh, now I see! It must be the imprint that turns everything I say into pervy hints!"

"The imprint augments what is already there~" Mephisto teased, and smoothed down the shirt collar over the tie. "Whether you acknowledge it or not."

"Yeah, yeah, keep on dreaming: I'm not into guys." Shiro pulled his trousers on, and carefully inched them up past the stitches without the fabric  
touching them.

"Not even exceptionally good-looking ones~?" he asked with a look that indicated he would print _exceptionally good-looking _on his business card  
without an ounce of shame.

"Especially not those: their heads tend to be too big for my palate. …no! Oh, don't you-! You _know _what I meant, you pervert! I'm not like that,  
it's the imprint! It's the _imprint_, I tell you…!"

But Mephisto had already collapsed over the examination table, with lung-bursting laughter peeling tears down his cheeks and drowning out Shiro's  
attempts to clarify what kind of head he really meant.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Why Poland?**  
The laboratory Mephisto used was situated in 16th century Poland, yes? (…I actually tried to find a building that matched the looks of the one in  
the anime, but gave up.) And Neuhaus was from Poland. What's up with Poland?

New Ageists and Hindu gurus say that seven ley-lines, the energy flows (nadis) of the earth, intersect in Krakow to form one of the planet's strongest  
nodes (chakras) of power. "Energy" is pretty vague, but consider it Mother Earth's lifeblood. More precisely, these flows are said to intersect at Wawel  
hill, where lies Wawel castle: a powerhouse, quite literally, for one wanting to conduct experiments relating to life and resurrection.

Now, I tried to get this verified by the staff at Wawel Royal Castle National Art Collection, but they either thought I was joking or tossed the mail in  
the junk. |'-3 So be aware there's some sources contradicting this, but also some that say it's true: and if it turns out not to be true, I'll just claim  
the Vatican did a cover-up. ;) Anyways: one of the towers of Wawel castle, the one called the Hen's Foot, used to house the laboratory of a Michał  
Sędziwój (1566-1636), a pioneering alchemist and the first man to distil what was then called "the food of life": oxygen.

I don't think Mephisto could visit the present-day research facility from the anime: not without anyone noticing. But the cradle of the art? Yes, maybe.  
At safe distance from the Vatican's watchful eyes, too. Michał Sędziwój was something of a genius at the time: sounds like someone whose aid Mephisto  
might have enlisted for his research?

Another funky detail in this is that Sędziwój was educated in, among other places, Wittenberg: same place as a certain Johann Faust (in legend). And  
speaking of the Faust found in legend: the constituents of his character are derived from many sources, one of which allegedly was Georg Sabellicus,  
a necromancer living in the 16th century (same as Sędziwój). And would you believe it? Sabellicus travelled to Poland to study – yep – magic (as  
chemistry and the natural sciences were called at the time). It would seem Poland was the place to go for advanced research at that time: so, in all,  
Kazue Kato picked her spot well.

**Verses and wordplay**  
…because they might not be as obvious if you haven't spent three weeks poring over them, as I have. |-'3 I'm still using Göthe's way of writing,  
but I "levelled up" to hexameter since the pentameter made it darn cramped to fit in both words and flow.  
_  
'tis, vain, they say, to wage pursuit of such endeavour;  
to steal from dust of dust the spark of vestal breath  
and con that lease laid down by Law that changeth never;  
for high and low alike, the price of life is death_

Vain, and unspeakable, and blasphemous - small wonder Mephisto couldn't keep his hands off the research into artificial life. I play with the burial  
rites (...those words in junction sound very wrong) wording of "from dust to dust", in the sense that somewhere in between our states of "living  
dust" and "plain dust" it would be possible to steal that divine spark that makes the difference between them, and bring life to that which is dead;  
to cheat the eternal rule that life is merely something we borrow, at a price that cannot be negotiated.

_'tis vain, I won't contest, but nonetheless entices  
a certain type of mind from fancy to cabal;  
whatever sway Law holds, for one so fond of vices,  
doth fall to fault as did the ilk of man in thrall  
_  
Sounds a lot like nonsense, yes. _Fall _and _fault _are the two possible English translations of the Latin _culpa_: and _Culpa _is the word used to denote  
the Fall of Man, that made mankind slave to mortality, disease, sin, etc. Whatever authority the Law of God holds over one like Mephisto will fall, as  
irrevocably as Mankind did, to the temptation that beckons his fancies. I fell in love with the word _cabal_, had to use it somehow. x'3 Look it up if  
you haven't seen it before: it's just the thing for someone like Mephisto.  
_  
A fickle lass, fair Chance a faithless mistress maketh,  
that, charmed by chaster hymns 'cross tipping scales she trod,  
the Ring of promise from the Fisherman did taketh  
and jilt the Devil that would do the work of God_

Never trust the capriciousness of chance: you never know when the scales of fortune will tip and you find yourself out of luck and in a pinch. No  
longer comfortable with Mephisto's wicked ambitions, Lady Chance abandons her favourite to settle with a more respectable man. The Ring of the  
Fisherman is one of the official regalia worn by the Pope: it was the Vatican that forbade research into artificial life, remember? And, well, a ring  
of promise for the faithless mistress; I don't need to elaborate on that. The ring itself is a golden signet ring with pattern based on the biblical  
St Peter, who was a fisherman by profession: the earliest historical mention of it is from 1265.  
_  
The word is mightier than the sword_  
You're used to hearing "The pen is mightier than the sword", no? This one is its predecessor by some 2000 years. _Story of Ahiqar_ was found during  
archaeological diggings in present-day Egypt. It's a collection of tales, written in Aramaic, that is similar to the fables of Aesop and many stories  
featured in the Bible and the Quran.

**Loke  
**…yes, I hope you can live with the Swedish spelling. ^_^' I use proper ö for Göthe, and I prefer using "proper" spelling of my favourite childhood  
scoundrel-hero's name. Mentioned as one of Mephisto's earlier aliases in AnE ch 39, and the similarities are all there: trickster, schemer, shape  
shifter, sometimes benevolent and sometimes malevolent, not a god and yet accepted among the gods through oath, deity of wit and wordsmithing  
(most notably, smithing lies), and… quite the slut. ^_^' It's also said that Loke owns shoes that let him walk on water and air, to escape the  
many people that would want to wring his neck: a way of saying he can transport himself anywhere very swiftly? Poof…?

**Hermes  
**Not as canon as Loke, but I believe Mephisto has been around long enough to cause trouble in all sorts of places. (I trust that if you think I'm way  
off track in my mad speculations, you'll let me know.) Some sources have it that the name Hermes itself is derived from a Greek word for "the power  
of speech", plus you find a bunch of modern-day words like _hermeneutics _(the study of interpretation of the written word) that more or less relate  
to the science of words. A trickster god, an intermediary between gods (well, "gods") and men, and able to move freely between the realm of the  
divine and the realm of mortals. He's the patron not only of poets and literature but also of orators and wit – and thieves. And he owns a pair of  
winged sandals; again, for swift transport?

**Safety circuits and demonic strength**  
I invented a sort of anachronistic EMG examination (you might recognise a vague description of Alessandro Volta's cylinder battery), combined  
with testing blood samples to look for abnormalities. I imagine chemical balance and nerve function are the kind of things you'd have to check, if  
you dabbled in reanimating corpses using demonic possession.

There's a whole set of nerve bundles and things that handle tension and relaxation of muscles: there's no consensus yet on exactly which ones do  
what, and how they work. But if you "switched the safeties off" you would be able to do badass cool stuff. And then your body would break. |-3 There  
is training that aims to accomplish that (by overriding the reflex response from the spine), I learnt, but it's only done by body-builders and weight  
lifters and people that have no healthy relationship to their bodies. But imagine if you could balance that tendon-tearing strength potential with a  
demon's regenerative abilities…? Well, theoretically, it would work. And I'm a stickler for pseudoscience. =P

**Why bother?**  
I'm not trying to give Shiro superpowers… =_=' There is a gap in canon that I need to fill, sooner or later. Humans in AnE are delightfully human,  
without insane strength or speed; unless we look at Shura and Angel. Yes, their high rank allows for superhuman badassery, but the most notable  
difference between them and other exorcists is that they wield demon swords. Angel asks Caliburn to lend him its strength, at a price: so I'm  
assuming they both enjoy that augmentation of strength and speed as a part of their contracts with their respective weapons.

That's the standard for how powerful a Paladin ought to be, then. In that first volume of the manga, Shiro is quite capable of blocking a demon's  
attack singlehandedly, and whacking said demon into the dirt: without asking to borrow strength from any sword. Or gun. (Can you even picture  
a "demon gun", the modern-day equivalent of a "demon sword"…?)

The manga really doesn't give you much on Shiro. ^_^' Even if I squint 'til my eyes bleed, I can't see any indication that he used a demon sword,  
or any enchanted/possessed weapon that would enhance his physical capacity. Maybe future chapters will show that. As for now, I will pretend that  
his additional speed/strength came from a quite different "contract". At a price.

**The billion-dollar question the anime never answered**  
…you thought I would write it here? No no no. "Postponing the excitement for later is simply for your own good." 0w~ (It's in the text anyway.)

I don't run with the anime, usually, but there is a most interesting question in it that was never answered: and when the subject was discreetly  
brought up anew in the manga, I decided I'd have a go at it. So remember this chapter, and you will get both question and a guess at the answer…  
in time. ~w0


	74. 74: The bell rings once-

**A/N: …ne, nu skriver vi på svenska för omväxlings skull. Någons huvud slår väl alltid knut på sig; inte minst om vår tids härligaste  
språkförbistringskatalysator , google translate, tillfrågas i saken. (...inte skulle jag väl medvetet få för mig att konstruera  
helvetessatser?) Om inte annat gör det nog en själv gott att lösa upp dendrit-knutarna litegrann; engelskan snör fast tungroten i  
svalget på en i längden, om man inte passar sig.**

The above sentences make perfect sense to a Swede, but are designed not to make sense for shit if you run them in an automatic translator: have  
fun. =P *exercise in pointlessness, both writing it and deciphering it*

**Jag varken äger eller tjänar ett rött öre på det här: all ära och inkomst åt Kazue Kato och eventuella andra rättighetsinnehavare  
vars existens gått mig förbi.  
**

* * *

It was a beautiful summer's day, and Shiro plain refused to study cooped up in the sweltering dorm room. The breeze on the roof felt nice in his hair,  
except when it blew into his eyes. Mephisto did have a point; he should cut it, but exams had highest priority at the moment.

Would you listen to that? _Exams had highest priority._ He certainly had changed.

"_Superhuman strength._" …yes, he felt a bit smug about it. That was by far the best thing the imprint had brought him. "_I can't wait to start that  
training._"

There had come a telegram a couple of days earlier that filled him with both excitement and nervousness. It's a very common mix, but nonetheless  
annoyingly distractive; even more so when the sender of the telegram should've showed up yesterday. Every now and then Shiro would push his  
fringe – what fringe? all his hair was the same length – out of the way, squint, and scan the sundrenched streets below. A shahrokh familiar had  
swooped by not long ago, and at the sight of him it had made an excited loop and flown back the same direction.

…suddenly, he wished he had taken the time to cut his hair. A quick one-over with the knife, maybe? On second thought, that probably wouldn't be  
any improvement.

Shiro was poring over his books and developing stupid complexes over his appearance when the unmistakable smell of amanatto, in the shape of a  
brown paper bag, landed right in the middle of _Differences in efficiency between Biblical verses and Buddhist chants used against possessed objects  
as opposed to possessed creatures_.

"Awful way ta spend a fine day like this", Kasumi's voice sounded from above his head. "Ye takin' the exam fe' Aria, like Shizzy?" Her long sideway  
fringe tickled his ear as she leaned down to peer over his shoulder.

"That one and all the rest – and you just graduated from the ninja academy?" Shiro raised an eyebrow at the face inches from his. "That roof door  
screeches like a banshee when it's opened."

"Good thing I didn't take the stairs, then."

Shiro had to run that one over in his head once more. Sure, _he _used to climb facades, but Kasumi was a-

A badass she-devil with a face that should be that close to his permanently. She smelt like summer flowers and road dust and adventure, and he  
wouldn't mind eating her instead of the sweets.

"You know, I hear amanatto taste better if you eat it indoors."

"Then I say yer hearin' ain't very good."

"No, it's true", he ensured with a straight face. "You lay them out one by one, sprinkle them with sesame seeds, and eat them off each other's naked  
bodies. They taste wonderful."

Kasumi's hearty laughter made her chest vibrate against his back and pour other creative ways of dining into his head.

"Nice try, pretty-boy." She straightened up and ruffled his hair; dammit, he should've had it cut. "Savin' up fer a perm? That an' those glasses an' ye'll  
look just like an old lady."

"Oh, is that the kind you prefer? Sorry, I didn't know."

"Ohoho, we~ll", she smirked down at him from above. "Ye're the expert at pickin' out the girls ye can't get, aren't ya? Fe' the record", she leaned down  
over him to pick the bag up, brushing – _laying _– her voluptuous breasts against his shoulder, "I like my men with big hearts an' big…" impishness played  
a merry summer-serenade on her features, "…mouths." To his surprise, she placed a teasing peck on his cheek. "C'mon, we got some catchin' up ta do."  
Kasumi sashayed off towards the creaky rooftop door, swinging the bag back and forth in her hand. "An' these", she held them up with a wink over her  
shoulder, "taste best while walkin' in a nice, shadowed park."

"_Looking good both up front and behind_", he grinned to himself as he gathered up his books while throwing sideways glances at the rear disappearing  
through the door. "_I really hope I can get on Shizu-san's good side again. Hell knows I miss talking to him… and he's got a killer sister I wouldn't mind  
talking more with, either._"

* * *

There _are _perfect days: days that warm blood and body like a constant sugar rush, and in every way ensure you that life is a beautiful thing. Shiro and  
Kasumi chose the walk around the lake, the one where dusk would see the night market setting up shop on the city-side shore. There was nothing  
there now, only the bright view of the square across the lake and rippling sunlight playing in the shading canopy of birdsong above them.

Demons dwell in darkness and shadow, and days like this their presences were so vague Shiro could barely sense them at all. They were still there, of  
course. They were always there. But the sun was bright, life was beautiful, and all the flowers of summer were walking next to him with a playful  
smile and a bag of sweets: on a day like this, Shiro would allow himself the risky luxury of an unshielded heart.

Kasumi was something out of the ordinary. A pocket in time, but a living one. A henro travelling by foot in a time of cars, owning only the treasure of  
memories in a time of money and work. A thousand tales from sky to earth lived in her smiling eyes, and her skin shone proudly with the deep tint  
of hard-earned wisdom: someone out of the ordinary. Someone who inevitably drew Shiro's attention.

"Nah, enough o' my roadside ramblings", she concluded after a most fascinating story of a man who had not only accidentally severed his toe while  
thinning his cabbages, but found that it enhanced the flavour of rice wine quite nicely if you let it soak in the bottle. "What've you been up to? When  
ye're not on hero duty an' savin' women an' children in need?"

"Saving demons in need", he said with a smile, took a bean from the bag and let his hand incidentally brush against Kasumi's. "Oh, you don't believe  
me? Ask Mephisto's butler. He came to me the other day and begged me on his knees to save the staff from their master: literally _on his knees._"

Her face was still the image of befuddlement.

"…that's… completely messed up. They come te _you _when they're having trouble with their boss?"

"Yep: I'm the only one that can do battle with the great Sir Mephisto Pheles. Between you and me, he's one pesky princess to be employed by", Shiro  
confided with a grin. "I actually pity his servants a bit, so I helped them out."

"How, 'sactly? Come on, I know the smell of a good story!"

"Right, right." He took the unlit cigarette from his lips and tucked it behind his ear to speak freely: "So Mephisto dresses like a circus drag queen, and…"

And when he was done relating how the bet came about and how it was won, they had to make a short stop to let Kasumi laugh. That also meant  
she leaned on him for support, which was very nice indeed.

"Ahahah…haaah… oh my, that's… fufufufu oh ye're a crack-up, both o' ye hahahaha… Oddest couple I ever saw, but it's plain as day ye're just right fer  
each other", she sniggered, and wiped laughing tears with the back of her hand in a very unladylike manner.

"Oi, you're speaking as if we were dating." Shiro pulled a face that said all about what he thought of that. Thank goodness Mephisto wasn't there to pick  
up on it. Bloody hell, he'd never let it go…

"Oh?" There it was: the look of an impish little pixie about to pull off a prank. "Ye're down ta callin' each other by first name, if ye haven't noticed.  
Without honorifics. Will ye be doin' it the Catholic way, or d'ya go with traditional Shinto or Buddhist ceremonies?"

"The one with the fanciest wedding dress, if you let him pick." Shiro made an unarticulated noise that perfectly expressed his feelings about the  
vision. "The worst thing is he'd probably put one on without even blinking. Half of the clothes in his wardrobe seem to be women's yukatas." Kasumi  
went down in another laughing fit, so he took his time to simply _enjoy_: summer warmth and sunny laughter, a cute girl at his side, no demons breathing  
down his neck… "Well, if you're done, I can inform you we don't really use names with each other at all." He brought a hand up to count. "He calls me  
'monkey', 'barbarian', 'philistine', 'plebeian' – I don't even know what that one means, but it's probably an insult educated people use to make the less  
educated feel even more stupid." He picked another treat out of the bag and tossed it into his mouth whole. "We dropped the honorifics part 'cause  
we're simply not very formal with each other."

Kasumi's expression was one in between wonder and disbelief.

"Ye must be givin' 'im plenty o' reason ta say that: 'e's been a perfect gentleman the times I've met 'im."

"I have a hard time believing that. Why would he be a gentleman to you…?" He took the opportunity to cast an obvious glance at the treats tucked  
inside her robe; rather than the furtive ones he cast when he pretended to look at some particularly interesting tree.

"Well, at least 'e's looking at my eyes an' not my tits." She gave him a glance in return that could compete with Mephisto's. "Or trees across the  
walkway."

…he might have to polish his furtiveness.

"You're one scary girl", he grinned sheepishly and scratched his nose. "Too late to say I was just checking that there weren't any pines nearby?"

"Far too late~ Poor excuse, anyway – ye missed that one ova' there."

"Shit. I'd better run, then."

"You'd better." There was a gleam in her eyes that was not to be trusted. "Before I'm done decidin' which end o' ya I'm gonna shove it in."

"I've still got stitches in my leg, you know."

"An' yer legs are longer than mine, so it evens out", she said with a grin that was just the right amount of wicked. "Last one ta the bridge treats the  
other t'a slice o' watermelon."

* * *

Smokers aren't famed for any outstanding stamina: in that department, the imprint had unfortunately not made any improvements. Shiro was an  
okay sprinter, but the bridge was a bit farther than sprinting distance; and he didn't dare go all out, with Mephisto's ominous words of snapping muscle  
tendons in mind. Plus he had that half-healed wound in his leg. And the wind blew the wrong direction.

…did excuses make the defeat in physical performance any less devastating, when his opponent was a girl that barely reached him to the shoulder?  
No, not really.

"Ah shit, I'm gonna die…" he wheezed, supported himself with his hands on his knees, and threw glares at the evil pygmy – for real? she wasn't even  
panting? – that twirled her walking staff idly in one hand.

"Not before ye've bought me my watermelon." She let the staff twirl one full turn around her hand, caught it, and set the end in the ground with a  
decisive feeling of 'let's go, then'. "With that stamina ye don't need a perm ta be an old lady. Want me te carry ya…?"

…look at that smug face: she probably _could _carry him, dammit all…

"If I buy a whole watermelon and stuff it into your mouth sideways, will it shut you up?"

"I know a mouth it would fit for sure: how about ye buy one an' we try…?"

* * *

Oh, there weren't words for it. There were simply not words for how good the air tasted, how bright the sun was; how much he enjoyed opening  
his heart and senses to the world, and having someone he didn't have to wear any mask around.

Someone who didn't wear any mask around him. Someone whose laughter didn't ring false with doubts and worries in his ears.

God, it was a whole different life…

They occupied the railing of the wooden bridge across the lake; each with a slice of watermelon in one hand, the other shading their eyes, and both  
trying to spit the seeds as far as they could.

To Shiro's relief, he could beat her at least at that.

"I'll be!" she whistled when he hit another pink lotus flower. "Shizzy said ye could shoot a yabudemari berry from a flying bird's beak, but I thought  
that was just fe' guns. Ye're an outstanding marksman."

Hearing it from Ando-sensei was nice: hearing it from Kasumi was bloody awesome.

"Thanks." He picked another slice from the tray between them, and relished in it far beyond the actual taste. "_My head will be the size of Mephisto's._"

"Ye know, I envy him at times", she mused softly. "We've never gone ta school, not me or any o' my sisters: mum an' dad taught us everything on  
the road. It was always just us, an' the people we met an' left as we walked. In my mind we were always gonna be fam'ly, stay tagether."

She spat another watermelon seed, and attracted the attentions of a rather disappointed duck.

"Years went by, roads ended an' branched off, an' in the end it was just Shizzy an' me. An' then, on 'is fifteenth birthday, 'e told me 'e wanted ta go  
ta the Academy in True Cross Town." She chuckled in her throat, eyes lost in the dancing sparks on the water. "I knew he'd been up ta somethin',  
what with savin' all that money – even skippin' a few meals some days, ta save more – but I'd had no idea what 'e was gonna do. An' it really hurt."

She licked the edge of the red flesh before she bit into the last slice of melon.

"The others couldn't help it – we all die one day – but Shizzy left by choice. An' he's my brother. I dunno if ye can relate, but… 'e's like the other half  
of me", she smiled. Shiro could believe that smile. He'd seen Shizuku and Kasumi together, and they really were- "We're two branches o' the same  
tree, growin' tagether since birth. An' when 'e said 'e wanted ta part ways, I…" Part of Shiro wanted to punch Shizuku for putting a look like that on  
Kasumi's face: but then, she chuckled. "Ye know how 'e can shout when 'e's mad. I'm ten years older, an' I shout ten times louder: I bet they could  
hear our argument ova' te the next village." The green crescent joined the others on the empty tray. Somewhere in Shiro's gut, a knot tightened.  
"But in the end, we all choose our own paths. I didn't like letting 'im go, but I respected 'is choice – an' now that I see where his path took 'im, I  
can tell it was the right choice." That look on her face – no, no; not so soon. Just a little longer, just a little more before they- "I reminded him o'  
that when I got here yesta'day. It's a bitter pill fe' him ta swallow, but 'e did reconsider." Kasumi swung her legs effortlessly over the railing and  
landed on the bridge. "So the grounds are stomped an' the cleansing salt's thrown inta the circle: only thing left is for the two o' ye ta meet up  
an' sort this out", she declared with a bright smile and a wink.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ring the bell: **hit the spot, be just what's needed in the situation

**Amanatto: **azuki beans or other beans that have simmered in syrup and then been coated in sugar, basically.

**Yabudemari: **in the West more commonly called "snowball bush/tree". They grow red berries in fall.

**Sourtoe Cocktail:** that bit about chopping a toe off and putting it in your drink? Reality beats fiction. Google it and find out. 8/


	75. 75: -twice-

**A/N: ****Silly question, but does anyone know how I make this editing program do strikethroughs? ^_^'**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

There is only one negative thing with perfect days: sooner or later, they end. Usually sooner. Far sooner than you want them to.

It wasn't something he liked to admit, but Shiro had hoped that… had hoped. Had clung to it for the longest time, even if he knew it wouldn't last.

He knew why Kasumi was there; he just didn't want to think about it. Didn't want to leave this relaxed day – this _real _day, without unspoken questions  
and fake smiles – to go back to the tension and the masks. They might resolve the worst of it with Shizuku, but there would always be masks. There  
would always be things he could never let any human know.

* * *

The short pilgrim led the way back to the forested side of the lake, and Shiro was suddenly reminded that this was the bridge: the bridge where he and  
Shizuku had had their final argument.

"_Shape up, you pussy. You've settled things before._" Usually with fists, but… There was a deeply unsettling feeling in his gut that he wasn't used to and  
couldn't identify. "I was a bit worried when you didn't show up yesterday", he picked up, and immediately regretted the sound of it.

"Ye gotta have _some_ better pick-up line ta try, bigmouth" she jabbed with a smile. "Thought I was gonna be here sooner, but I got held up on the way.  
Anyways, I was here by nightfall. Shizzy filled me out on the story 'round this argument ye're havin'." _Reject_. He didn't want that, he realised. He didn't  
want Shizuku to tell Kasumi what the Shiro with the mask was like. He wanted to cut this day off from all the rest of his days and never let the two  
come in contact, for risk of contamination. "Now, I'm not passin' any judgement on anyone; I just wanna hear your thoughts on it. Midori-san said  
some pretty ominous stuff 'bout ye' friend there at the shooting range."

Shiro bit the tip of his tongue in thought. Two Shiros were about to meet, Shizuku's and Kasumi's, and they had to speak with the same voice.

"I think Midori-chan is right; about him being powerful. Demons can tell such things about each other. But she doesn't know him as a person."

"An' how would ye say 'e is, as a person?"

Describe Mephisto? Why not have a go at describing das Labyrinth des Limbus? There was nothing you could say of him that wasn't contradicted by  
something else he did. He was such a massive complex of dead ends and false walls and roads that twisted back in on themselves that you'd lose  
yourself in the vastness of it without ever coming closer to explaining what he was li-

"…like outpacing thought", he mumbled, rewinding what he had just thought to try again; try to see more of what he'd glimpsed in the corner of his  
mind's eye for a split second. "_Beyond what the mind can grasp; so infinitely much more than the mind itself that-_" Damn, it slipped so quickly…!

"Hoo~ That's an unusual thing ta hear from that mouth", Kasumi whistled in honest amazement. "Outpacin' thought. I see what ye mean."

"You do…?" His turn to be surprised. Maybe she could explain…?

"Yeah." Her admiring face broke with an absentminded chuckle. "In a sense. Couldn't explain what it is, though. That's part of the idea, no?" She  
glanced up at him with the same honesty now forming a warm smile on her lips. "There's things beyond the grasp of words an' thoughts. Things too  
big fer us ta comprehend." They left the walkway for a narrow forest trail overgrown with neglect. "Shizzy worried a lot about Midori-san's words, but  
I think ye're closer ta how things are than he is."

Oh yes, Shizuku worried. And Shiro worried more and more if he would be able to pull off this meeting or not. Shizuku would have him answer all  
those inconvenient questions in front of Kasumi, and-

"'e's still a kid, my brother", her voice phased back into his perception. The path was too narrow for them to walk side by side, and she spoke over her  
shoulder in front of him. "Mature fe' his age, but hasty an' stubborn as teenage guys are. An' feels a very strong responsibility fe' people – 'e got that  
from dad, I'm sure."

The thick greenery of summer closed in on them and tinted the sunlight with chlorophyll. Shadows had life in there: sluggish and whining and weak  
at that hour, but shielded from direct sunlight. And attentive of the humans that disturbed them.

Thinking more of the short, robed shape ahead than of himself, Shiro let his heart grow cold and indifferent in the lush warmth. Caution before comfort.

"_Just a tiny crack…_" he told himself. He didn't want it to end, didn't want the dull cold after that sweet sunlight, didn't want to give up that freedom  
just when he realised how much he had missed it.

Didn't want to meet Shizuku and be forced back into pretending and worming around questions. Not with Kasumi there to witness it.

"The way I see it, Midori-san's outpacing thought a little, too", Kasumi continued solemnly, oblivious to both demons and the change in Shiro. "She  
grew up without a language, an' she sees things quite different from us who did: she sees the core. The things that are beyond words."

The trail was nonexistent now, and underneath the rustling of twigs they pushed out of their way Shiro could hear a susurrus, claustrophobic  
sensation trill against his eardrums.

"I don't doubt that Pheles genuinely tries ta fit inta the human world, an' he's doin' a great job with it", she said somewhere beyond the murmuring,  
"but it never changes what 'e is at the core."

Was this what his dad had felt? Was this why he had distanced himself from his family more and more? Because there were things unsaid there that  
could never be said, wrongs made that could never be set right; and wasn't it so much easier to abandon ship and start anew, start again in a place  
where he didn't need to wear any mask?

"_…I'm becoming him more and more…_"

And the claustrophobic sensation grew stronger.

"That's what Midori-san sees: the demon Pheles. So ye're probably right when ye say there's the _person _Pheles, too, but that's not the part o' him  
that has me worried."

Oh, she shouldn't worry about Pheles: behind her, Shiro drowned. Clawed for the light beyond darkness that had blotted out his vision before he had  
time to react.

"_No, hell no, not now…!_" He groped for control, tried to put a lid on the panic, but all he could think of was Kasumi a few steps ahead of him; Kasumi  
who shouldn't worry about him, Kasumi that he so desperately wanted to be a normal teenager with, Kasumi that must _not _be hurt…!

"Ye alright back there?" She threw a glance over her shoulder, looking worried-

_looking as if she already knew_

"Yeah, I'm good. Just stumbled over a branch." Steady voice, steady face; please, _please_… "Still got stitches in the leg, you know."

"_**That's right: be a good boy and put on the mask. Be a good boy and pretend there's nothing wrong with you~**_"

Shiro stumbled on behind Kasumi like a drunk, ducking the bombardment of old memories that threatened to weigh him down into unconscious-  
ness –_ Why didn't you come home last night? Mom was all worried, she stayed up, and she was crying_ – with a body that was only half his. With  
a face that resembled his dad's so much…

"_**Like father, like son. Killed himself, did he~? After he killed your mother. Why don't we put the saying to the test fufufufufu~?**_" No… _no…  
_"_**Since you worry so, little Shiro: let's see how much like your dad you are~**_" the shrill voice cackled joyfully. "_**If you kill her, will you kill  
yourself next…?**_"

No…!

His legs moved faster, his hand reached into his pocket for the knife-

"_Why the fuck do I carry a knife in situations like this!?_"

He had to yell, at least warn her, had to do _something_…!

Kasumi pushed through a thick hazel shrub and disappeared out of sight; Shiro's body gritted its teeth as it tried to open the tight fist he had willed  
the fingers to make so they couldn't take the knife-

Sunlight stung his eyes and made the demon's grip loosen: Shiro leapt at his chance with full force, and when he was out of the hazel… he was alone  
in his body.

They stood on a proper path, wide enough for three people at least. Both sides were flanked by lush forest, and the path itself was covered with warm,  
dust-breathing gravel that heated through the soles of his shoes. Kasumi's skin was caramel in the light, with that tuft of her tied-up hair glowing like  
a bush of dandelion seeds in the sun.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Ye really should stop smokin'", Kasumi observed, with both her eyebrows raised at the flustered, panting teenage guy in front of her. "Ye' stamina  
fuckin' sucks."

She just stood there… and had no idea…

Shiro burst into the involuntary laughter of knotted nerves going slack.

"Yeah. Yeah, I should." He ran a shaky hand through his hair, and felt the coarse hairs sting where fingernails had dug holes in his palm. "Next time  
you might wanna keep me on a proper road."

"Listen ta pretty-boy speakin'", she chuckled. "I'm assuming ye were puffin' too loud ta hear what I said?" Kasumi looked at him in a way that reminded  
Shiro she was an Older Sister, and it was second nature to her to make sure Little Brothers were out of harm's way; not out of trouble's way, but a safe  
distance from harm's. "I was sayin' that it's not the person part o' Pheles that has me worried. The _person_ Pheles might want ta be ye' friend, but the  
_demon_ Pheles is a different story altagether: when it comes down to it, 'e's a fox and ye're a rabbit, an' every instinct in 'is body will be screamin' at 'im  
ta bite yer head off. One instant o' lost control on his part an' it could end badly for ya; one move wrong an' ye could snap 'is control like a dry twig."  
She tipped her head to the side and looked at- no, looked _through _him. "Is it worth it?"

"Is it worth…?" his voice faltered.

"A friendship where ye have ta constantly be on guard. Watch ye' back, watch ye' tongue, watch ye' mind..." Her head tipped back up straight with  
a smile that was… the painful kind of soft. "...watch ye' heart. Is it worth it?"

Dagger. The soft, painful kind of dagger. Blind stab, right into the chest.

Is it worth it? Is friendship worth it if you have to be constantly on guard, constantly protect; constantly mistrust yourself and hide it…?

She just stood there… and had no idea…

_Is it worth it if the fox one day bites the rabbit?_

"It's worth it." Yet he sounded a lot more sure than he felt.

And when he followed Kasumi up the sundrenched hill, he could feel dark whispers swirl in his shadow.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ring alarm bells: **a sign that something's not right, and you have reason to worry.


	76. 76: -thrice

**A/N:** **I can't believe the reviews I'm getting. 0_0 Honestly, you're all… I don't know how to put words on it. My sincerest, deepest thanks to you, for being the lovely readers you are. I'll try my very best to write a story worthy of such praise.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Shiro could orientate himself, after a while. They had taken a shortcut to the path that led up to the little shrine on a forested pinnacle in the wild parts  
of True Cross Town. He could hear Shizuku's distinct whistling long before he could see the shrine: a wooden building of humble proportions and traditional  
design. Shizuku sat on the ground, leaned against one of the stone banister posters, and let his skilled hands fly the whittling knife over a piece of wood.

"Would ye stop scarin' away the birds, ye tone deaf rake?"

"If I don't they might take ye' head fer a nest an' settle in", he returned easily and tucked the knife back into its sheath in the unrolled bundle of  
tools. "Hi, by the way." He stood, stretched… "How's ye' leg?"

…tense, no matter if he stretched. Tense and fumbling.

"Could've been better, could've been worse." Ngh, there should be a handbook for situations like this. First chapter: _how to start talking. _"Come down  
to formalities, has it?"

"It ain't formalities", Shizuku replied; and it really wasn't empty formality, when he wore that look. "I don't do formality: I care. But ye don't get that,  
do ya?"

Second chapter: _how to make the things you mean come out the right way._

"You mean I'm an unthankful bastard that doesn't like having people worrying for me?" Shiro developed, just to be sure. "'cause that's true."

"Yeah, sure is." Shizuku went on to brush wood chips and dust off his school uniform. "But more than that; ye don't get the concept of caring." With  
nothing more to brush off or fidget with, he crossed his arms to keep his hands still. He was at least as uncomfortable as Shiro in this. But he was no  
coward. "I'm not sayin' ye aren't a good friend. Ye're fun ta be 'round, an' a great guy in many aspects – but deep down? Deep down ye're cold. I saw  
that in yer eyes the day I hit ye; I think it's why I did it." …majestic; how he stood firm by his words, even when the breath that carried them  
quivered at the edges. "'cause it scared me. I didn't want that ta be you." He chewed at his lip piercing, nervous… but his eyes never left Shiro's.  
"Either ye were like that from the very beginning, an' I just didn't notice; or it's something ye turned into when ya started hangin' 'round Pheles.  
I need ya ta tell me which it is, an' I need it ta be the truth."

"Right. The truth is I've always had a cold side." He brought the switchblade out of his pocket. "I carry this around, don't I? And I know how to use  
it." He shoved it back into his pocket, and let his hand stay with it. "You said it yourself that I'm quite possibly the most unfriendly person you've met."  
He made a short pause, to let his next words build weight: "But I'm only like that when there's a need."

Truth – but not a truth that had Shizuku entirely satisfied.

"What was the need when Agari-chan was bein' shipped off ta the crematory?" Shiro suspected that if Kasumi hadn't been there, his flat tone  
would have had a much sharper edge. Shizuku wasn't buying it. But Shizuku felt strong responsibility for people. He _cared _for people. He was a  
good, compassionate person.

"_…I so shouldn't do this._"

The strings were there; all he needed to do was pull them. Carefully, carefully; like that fish-catching game Yasuda had been so good at.

"You would know, wouldn't you?" Just the right softness on the edges, just the right information obtained from Kasumi. "You've buried family, too. Still,  
you had each other; you've always had each other." The right smile, the right hesitance. "I had no one. And I haven't been… _close _to anyone, since."  
The right words – _can be forged into the key for any lock_ – oh, he shouldn't do this… "I haven't been to any funeral since, either. I'm only cold when I  
have to." The right sincerity, the right vulnerability. "And I only have to when there's something I need to protect myself from. I couldn't go, Shizu-san.  
I just couldn't." The right awkwardness; slightly faster paced speech to get it over with. "And Agari-chan loathed me, I know that. I don't think you  
wanna have a guy you hate say goodbye to you. It doesn't- It's not fitting; even a blunt, blundering idiot like me knows that. I know Midori-chan went,  
but she's not exactly like ordinary people. She doesn't view things the same as we do." Kasumi would agree on that, wouldn't she? And now: slow the  
pace, shift towards earnestness. "I know I looked fucking horrible by comparison, but I was trying to honestly respect Agari-chan the way I thought  
she would've preferred." _Just hit him! _memory echoed in his mind. "As her final wish." For him to be dead: that had been her final wish. "I really  
didn't mean any offence."

Guilt and excitement competed for dominance when he surveyed the fruits of his performance: Shizuku could understand the holes gauged by loss,  
good old compassionate pilgrim, he could see the discomfort emotional display caused Shiro…

_Is it worth it?_

"Always such an idiot…" The tension was off his face; there was even a smile, but there was also a line of worry between his thick eyebrows. "But why  
Pheles? Why would anyone wanna", quick glance at Kasumi, "make friends with a demon?"

"…well, I think you'd have to be an idiot to understand that", Shiro replied, pushing towards a lighter mood with a small smile of his own. "Or a  
Futotsuki. I'm a little of both. I-"

"Why don't ye tell 'im the story ye told me earlier?" Kasumi suggested with a Big Sister smile, and broke the standing formation by seating herself  
comfortably against the shrine foundation. "Best understandin' comes from real-life example."

* * *

It's such a basic human thing, to want friends. To sit down on a sunny afternoon with a stomach full of watermelon and amanatto and laugh at silly  
stories: the kind of simple, precious thing that lights the whole world with meaning. Shiro was human, so very human in that aspect: and it's very,  
very human to embrace the aid of a demon to get those basic, precious things you want.

"Why don'tcha come ta the crafts market next week?" Kasumi suggested, now sitting by the post where Shizuku had been when they came. "It's  
gonna be on Mepphy Land's premises, so it ain't far. Shizzy's comin'", she nodded at her brother, who was still giddy with laughter from hearing of  
Mephisto's cupcakes, "an' that tanuki boy, an' maybe Sen an' Midori-san. How's that sound?"

"Sounds just great", he said around his cigarette, stretched out on his back on the ground and propped up on his lower arms. "But I've got more exams  
next week than all of them together."

"An' fe' pulling that off, ye deserve one afternoon o' fun", Shizuku concluded from his spot on a rock next to the shrine stairs.

"An' it'll be my last day in True Cross Town", Kasumi added with a knowing smirk. "After that I head out east."

"Now that you put it that way…" Shiro let his wolfish smile reach full potential. "Careful, though: prolonged exposure to me might delay your departure."

"Just can't keep ye'self from playin' with fire, can ye?" Shizuku guffawed, but showed no signs of disapproving the approach. "Yer own fault if ye get  
burnt. Ye might wanna know", he added with a wicked glint in his eyes, "ye've got competition~"

"Stuff it, Shizzy."

There really was-? Pff, of course there was. Kasumi travelled the entire length and width of Japan, and she was cute to boot. There was no way there  
wasn't some guy somewhere who'd-

Realisation hit Shiro right in the face: some other guy? Kasumi met _hundreds_ of guys, and unless they had marbles for eyeballs at least half of them  
must be flirting with her. He was just one of many: _he _was 'some other guy'. She probably didn't even-

"Ye should see yer face." Shizuku wore a grin that showed at least two- no, wait; maybe three molars. "How many times 'ave ya been proposed to,  
Kasu? I stopped countin' when I started at True Cross, but it was at least eight."

"I've only had one more since then. From that guy."

"Oh~ _that _guy?" Shizuku looked just like his sister when she'd spotted teasing material. "S'that what kept ye an extra day with the Futotsuki~?"

Kasumi whacked him over the shoulder with her staff.

"What guy?" Shiro's big mouth asked for him. "_Great. That's _one _good thing closing my heart does: words don't fucking fly out of my mouth before  
I can think._"

"No guy." Kasumi used her staff like a rapier to jab the laughing Shizuku rapidly wherever openings presented themselves. "Just some asshat that's  
too dumb ta get a hint an' too naïve ta get properly told off." An unsuccessful dodge saw Shizuku hitting the ground. "An' that's not what had me  
delayed."

"Hey hey hey, I surrenda'! I surrenda'! Shit, man…" Shizuku rubbed his assaulted ribs, still chortling. "If Makoto-san knew how violent ye are, he'd  
save 'imself the trouble." He picked himself up and sat down on the grass next to Kasumi. "What kept ya, then?"

"I trekked from the Futotsuki's an' down here: passed St. Nicholas on the way." The mirth immediately evaporated from Shizuku's face. "They were  
still diggin' out the bodies, so I volunteered ta help."

"St. Nicholas…?" Shiro's ears perked up, and the word was out of his mouth before he could think. It didn't feel familiar on his tongue; yet he had  
reacted as if it were…

"Orphanage, northwest-west between True Cross Town an' the Futotsuki's territory", Shizuku summarized in sombre tones, and looked back to  
Kasumi. "I heard it was pretty bad."

"All bad an' none pretty. It struck in the middle o' night when everybody was asleep an' brought the place down like a card house." Haggard sadness,  
raw and sudden, discoloured her pixie face. "Ninety-two dead, no survivors."

"What struck? Demons…?"

"Oh, that's right: ye were away when it happened", Shizuku recalled. "Earthquake. St. Nicholas was built ta hold fe' that – it wasn't even a big one,  
but the orphanage was at the epicentre. An' it just collapsed."

St. Nicholas.

"_There's something about that name._"

"Well, it's a good thing the place was so isolated", Kasumi's voice drifted loosely through his thoughts. "Nothin' else around that could be damaged.  
Ye gotta be grateful fe' the small blessings."

"_I've heard that before; but why would that…?_"

"I prayed fe' them, when I heard about it on the news. 's the kind o' thing that makes ye wish ye coulda' done more, but…"

_St. Nicholas_

Why did that ring a bell?

_St. Nicholas_

Why was that name important?

_St. Nicholas_

Why did he feel like he really ought to remember…?

_St. Nicho-_

"Guys, I… need to get back to studying." _Immediately_. "If I'm gonna have that free afternoon with you at the market, that is." He stumbled up on  
his feet, glad he could blame the leg for the unsteadiness. "I've had a great day, really, but duty calls." Oh, it sure did. "Thanks. I'll see you around."

* * *

Shiro walked at fast pace down the sloping trail. When he'd rounded a turn, he jogged. When his thoughts were done processing, he ran.

Orphanage. Earthquake. Festival. Futotsuki meeting.

"_I see them._"

Strings thin as spider web, winding into the shadows; he wouldn't have noticed them, if he hadn't been at that meeting and seen them pulled.

strings hidden in the darkness

"_If it really is you…_"

connecting one thing to another

"_…if you did what I think you did…_"

weaving coincidences into skilful geometry

"_…then you have things to explain, Mephisto._"

with the spider at the nexus

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ring a bell: **recall something.


	77. 77: Chess

**A/N: Okay, A... sink or swim. ^_^' Your reviews make me giddy with joy, and I feel truly honored by your words: they also make me  
incredibly nervous. x') You like my characterization of Mephisto, and if you still like it after this... then I will breath a sigh of relief.  
I can only hope I've done this the right way. I hope I can swim.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Daylight was dimming, but Mephisto was still in his office: Shiro could feel it. Feel it in every bristling hair on his body.

"_You are not worming yourself out of this._" His steps echoed heavily in the empty corridor. "_I don't fucking care if I'm one human up against the  
King of Time: you are _not _getting away with something like this._" The echo of war drums.

* * *

"Normally, people knock." The demon didn't even look up from his chessboard.

"Monkeys aren't people. I figured you wouldn't be very busy this time of day anyway." He sauntered over to the heavy wooden desk with his hands  
in his pockets – the lighter was already gone. "I met Kasumi-chan today: she told me to pass greetings to you."

"Then give her my greetings in return~ Charming girl, that; pity she has those distasteful tattoos."

Mephisto still hadn't even looked at him. Could it really be so concentration demanding to make the first move against yourself, or was he ignoring  
him deliberately?

"She should've been here yesterday, but she got held up on her way down from the Futotsuki's", said Shiro casually, and seated himself on the edge  
of the desk: if that didn't get Mephisto's attention, then-

*poof*

An armchair from the cream-coloured furniture set around the table appeared in front of the desk, demanding to be used.

"As I was saying, she got held up", he continued, rising from the desk but ignoring the chair. "There had been some kind of accident while we were away  
at the meeting. Earthquake, I think. She stayed and prayed for the victims – ninety dead, or around those figures."

"What a lovely date you must have had, with such topics", he smiled, still pondering where to place his first white piece.

"At least I _can _date her, warding tattoos and all. But we did get into discussing earthquakes." Shiro intently studied the thin lips, the hair curl, the ears,  
the eyes lowered at the board; anything that could betray a reaction. "The one that struck there – St. Nicholas, I think the place was called – wasn't  
very strong, but it still shook the place to pieces, and left no survivors. None, out of the ninety-two that lived there." No reaction. Idly turning his  
chess piece between his fingers, as if he wasn't even listening. "I just thought I should ask, since you've got a brother that's King of Earth", he  
ventured, connecting the dots Mephisto pretended to be blissfully unaware of. "If a weak earthquake occurs within a very small perimeter, can it  
still be that destructive?"

A very, _very_ small perimeter, with St. Nicholas in the epicentre.

"My brother is the expert, admittedly, but I suppose it could", was his reply. "Small quakes are very common, especially here in Japan. They seldom  
cause any damage – unless they hit gas pipes in poor condition, as I believe was the case with the one you speak of."

"You seem to know quite a bit about it." Doubt evaporated slowly off his heating temper as the perfect façade remained _perfect_. "Does that name ring  
a bell with you? St. Nicholas?"

"Never met him in person", Mephisto confessed. "Greece was a lovely place to live, in ancient times, but Christianity always did tend to spoil one's fun.  
I think we missed each other by at least eight centuries."

"I meant the place: the orphanage St. Nicholas." Shiro's voice took on an edge of crude, grating steel. "The one that was completely bulldozed in a very  
unnatural earthquake while you were getting yourself a perfect alibi at the Futotsuki meeting."

"Such harsh tones~" At least he looked at him, even if it was a blithe look of I-have-no-idea-why-you're-so-upset that tempted Shiro to smash his teeth  
in. "I'm King of Time, you know; I believe the one you should be directing your glares at is the King of Earth."

A silver tongue to veil any lie in the light of truth; a sweet voice to make bitter poison appear like pristine ambrosia. The most devious weapon in a  
demon's arsenal.

Shiro stared the black-suited, smooth-talking snake down over the desk. He could send an entire clan of demons to their death, fine: demon society,  
demon rules. But an orphanage of human children…

_There are some things you just don't do._

"So it's complete coincidence that that was the orphanage Agari-chan was from?" he said in low, calm tones that answered the question on their own.

The mask didn't slip, no. Mephisto could have been confronted with mountains of conclusive evidence and still worn that face of idle innocence. No: he  
took the mask off, and revealed the calculating amusement underneath.

Amusement.

Not guilt or regret or pity: amusement.

"Katsuda Agari, Komui Natsuya, Ayabito Susumu, Inoue Katsu, Sato Michio, Kobayashi Shizue." His lilting voice trickled over the names like a creek  
over rocks. "All orphans, adopted from St. Nicholas: all trained there to be fully capable exorcists before they ever set foot in my academy."

"_Trained...?_"

Orphans... trained...?

The words seeped into him like winter's breath through an old door. Trained orphans. An assassination squad of sleeper agents. Child soldiers for a suicide  
mission; children that had lost everything already, except their lives. What despicable mind would-

"St. Nicholas was a Catholic orphanage…" Pieces fit together; thoughts raced ahead, kicked in doors and surveyed possibilities. "It couldn't be, the  
Vatican…?" That wasn't the real question, of course. "_Why is he telling me this?_" Mephisto didn't play with open cards, not even with the promise  
of trust in mind. "_He trusts you alright_", a cynical part of his mind huffed. "_He trusts you to be smart enough to figure out his game through tracing  
strings and guessing riddles. Teaching you to think like a demon._"

Did he even want to-?

Oh, he wanted to. Danger had only ever spurred his curiosity on. There is a twisted fascination with mystery and malice in the human heart; and  
his heart…

_Am I a master smith? Am I shaping you this very moment, for some distant purpose in a future only I can see?_

…was marked by the devil in the high-backed chair.

"My Roman bed-mate may be a cold lover, but not so cold as to hide a dagger beneath her pillow", Mephisto said with an air of cool, well-measured  
amusement. "St. Nicholas specifically accepted children orphaned in demon attacks: aside the usual education, said orphans were also given rigorous  
training in exorcism and military combat. This somewhat unusual childcare was privately funded, by an anonymous founder who has turned out to  
be a Cardinal Basilio Tanzi." The chess piece rolled back and forth between his fingers, back and forth as he surveyed his game board with lazy,  
heavy-lidded eyes. "A Cardinal who, the day after the incident in Deep Keep, left his residence to live at an unknown location. The only contact the  
rest of the world has had with him since is sporadic messages by telex."

Shiro didn't play chess, but he knew enough of it to catch the irony: the piece between Mephisto's fingers was a bishop.

"You look awfully calm, given the circumstances. You don't think he's told anyone by now?"

"Omniscient am I not, but much is known to me: had there been whispers of my name in the corridors of Headquarters I would have known. Tanzi is a  
fool, not an idiot." He snapped his fingers and summoned a paper to his desk. "Chess is won by stratagem, not by numbers: he sent no army to contest  
me, but six assassins carefully cloaked in inconspicuousness."

He slid the paper over to Shiro, whose first thought was that the demon must've been in a hurry when he wrote. After a closer look, he discarded it  
altogether as something written by Mephisto. The crinkly paper was covered in crude, impatient handwriting jotted down with a plain ballpoint  
pen – which meant those splotches weren't Mephisto's deep red ink…

"Katsu Inoue came here 1965, and made a very good impression on the teachers: good enough to be admitted apprenticeship as guard in Deep Keep."

_Katsu Inoue: infiltration, armed support, recconnassanse_

"Komui Natsuya, Kobayashi Shizue and Sato Michio enrolled three years later; Katsu was in position by then, and had confirmed that the dimensional  
pocket could not be accessed without disabling the wards that sealed it."

_Komui Natsuya: marksman, armed support, reconaissanse_

_Kobayashi Shizue: low-level psychic, ability to dowse for energy signatures_

_Sato Michio: swordsman, armed support, reconassanse_

"Das Labyrinth des Limbus must've proven quite the obstacle for Kobayashi-chan: it wasn't until the last two cogs in the machinery were accepted  
into the Academy this previous year that they could reach the wards in there. Katsuda Agari bought her basic materials from True Cross Town and  
the exorcist supply shop, and devised an arsenal of surprisingly sophisticated timed explosive devices to wipe out the entire seal at once."

_Katsuda Agari: explosives technician, armed support_

"Ayabito Susumu was quite the interesting case", Mephisto mused on, resting his cheek in his hand with the elbow supported on the desk. "A genius  
of numbers that not only fortified the seal to isolate my heart, but drew up formulas for navigating inside my labyrinth."

_Ayabito Susumu: mathematician, specialised in surjective __homomom__ homephism __H-O-M-E-O-M-O-R-P-H-I-S-M_

And, tilting on its own down in one corner, smudged when the paper had been carelessly shoved into a pocket: _I can't spell recconnassiense, Aniue_

"He even learnt the chant from the Essene scrolls by heart." Mephisto turned the game piece over in his hand slowly, thoughtfully; and made Shiro's  
intestines tie themselves in knots. "I located the demon who told the Cardinal what those scrolls really contained, and she gave me the same  
name: Tanzi." The white bishop resumed its place on the board with a soft, clean click.

"And you can't find him…" Shiro murmured, eyes lingering on the bishop hiding behind its row of loyal pawns. The last man on earth who knew  
Mephisto's true name. One man that could ruin everything he had worked for during one and a half century.

"Tanzi spent near thirty years preparing for his move, and spent just as long preparing his retreat if it failed: hiding from me is very difficult, but he  
succeeds. He succeeds, because he knows who I am." The glimmer in the eyes was the same, and the sneer that danced on his lips was the same,  
but that was Samael: Shiro knew, because he noticed he had stopped breathing. "And he knows how eager I am to meet him. He isn't coming out of  
his shelter for as long as he lives, nor is there anyone outside it who could help him if he revealed what he knows. He hopes", there was a tone hissing  
around that word that sent chills down Shiro's spine, "that if he buries himself alive, silent and compliant, I won't see any point in digging him out."  
Shiro felt the demon's presence curling in on itself like a predator ready to leap. "It will be an arduous undertaking, certainly, but I do appreciate a  
challenge: it's very rude, if nothing else, to resign mid-game."

"_He hides it well…_" But an imprinted heart could tell that Mephisto was absolutely, hellishly furious.

"Tanzi may have surrounded himself with every imaginable defence against demons, but I will make him finish the game he started."

…and Shiro understood why Mephisto was sharing this information with him.

"I'm not doing it", he said coldly. "_Every imaginable defence against demons, but none against humans; is that it?_" He could see where this was going,  
and he would dig his heels into the dirt before Mephisto's smooth-talking got a syllable further. "I'm not becoming your private hitman. If you want  
the Cardinal dead, you're gonna have to do it yourself."

"Dead?" He looked genuinely surprised that anybody would dream of associating such a word with his pristine white appearance: although he was  
at the moment more fittingly dressed in pitch black. "Shiro, Shiro, who ever said anything of killing? 'To subdue the enemy without fighting is the  
acme of skill.'"

"And where do ninety-two orphans fit into that quote?" Cold heart, cold mind, cold voice: he didn't sound like a nineteen year-old, not even in his  
own ears.

"In chess there is always sacrifices." Mephisto's voice was light and carefree, but his eyes were sharp with focus. "Tanzi was well aware of that when  
he sent his assassins into the fray."

Shiro felt as though his windpipe had been blocked with a fistful of burning coal.

"_You inhuman fucking...!_" In chess there were sacrifices, yes: but reality wasn't a bloody game. Real lives weren't game pieces that-

_To a demon they are._

Time stopped, and his breath ached past the tight knot in his throat as he held the green gaze of the demon posing as a man: there was no guilt in  
that face, because demons feel no such thing. No pity, no shame, no concept of human right and wrong.

"_To a demon we're just puppets and playthings._"

Time regained momentum, and he shuddered involuntarily. His gaze fell away; fell to the chessboard, where the neatly lined-up pawns formed walls  
of faceless cannon fodder: genderless, featureless, unimportant meat shields whose sole purpose was to fight and die at the hands of the kings that  
moved them.

_…fight and die… in the gloved hands of the king that moved him…_

"Chess is a game of war", Mephisto spoke softly, seeing where Shiro's attention lay. "As long as war is waged, lives are lost: until one king surrenders,  
no piece on the board is safe." Green eyes sought his, and gloved fingers braided together to form a podium for the words that left the demon's mouth.  
"Some would say it's testimony of a player's skill to capture the king with subtly layered traps: the true master of the game, however, needs no traps  
or decoys. The true master is the one that can pull checkmate with the naked elegance of a single move." Mephisto rested his eyes on him expectantly,  
waiting… "The acme of skill." …waiting for him to make his move.

Shiro's breath fell from his lips, and the ground from underneath his feet.

Skilled he was. And not only at war games.

Checkmate in one move. Checkmate with only one piece: one piece that could ensure no others had to be sacrificed again. One piece that was  
prepared to do anything to wash its black conscience a little whiter.

Shiro clenched his teeth around the haunting echo of that single gunshot in Deep Keep.

One bullet

One chess piece

One choice

"_You devil…_"

Know your enemy, and you can predict his actions

"_No one knows the human heart like a demon._"

Predict your enemy's actions, and you can lead him wherever you like

"_No one knows mine like you do._"

To the true master, the enemy is but another game piece to be played

"_…I never played by the rules._"

"Let's be clear about one thing, Samael." Indeed, names are powerful things. Now that he paid attention, Shiro could see it affecting him, too.  
Mephisto didn't wince, as other demons would have; but he wasn't used to hearing that name any more than they were. "I don't give a damn about  
your schemes and vendettas. You'll do as you please – as you always do – but I'm not you game piece. I will not be moved by you, or anyone else.  
This pawn", he picked a matte black piece off the board, "is not part of the game." Without breaking eye contact, he grimly put the pawn down on  
the desk with a hard click.

There. A challenge. A declaration of war, against war, for continued war: it crackled in the air between them; demon and human, king and pawn.  
Let's see how he dealt with-

"Oooh, I like that look!" Liked? Mephisto seemed about to fly out of his chair with excitement, white-clad hands flat on his desk and eyes-

-Shiro had never seen his eyes opened up like this, had never seen them _burn _like this, never-

"Such determination! Such cold flame in those eyes! No use arguing against a man with a look like that upon his features: I bow to your decision." …what?  
"Your move may be rather, so to speak, unorthodox", the green eyes darted down to the pawn for a moment, and returned with only glowing coals  
remaining of the fire, "but the right to move is yours alone."

The element of surprise may be a fundamental part of war strategy, but no one could work it like Mephisto. He simply dropped the matter? Just like that?

Shiro's brow furrowed.

"You're not…? Not gonna go after the Cardinal, then?"

"There are countless ways to capture a king", he said flippantly, and produced a packet of chocolate-flavoured pocky out of the air. "'Water shapes its  
course according to the nature of the ground over which it flows', and so the strategy changes to suit the game." The pocky stick snapped between  
the sharp teeth in his smile. "I can play one piece short."

_And win regardless_, the unfinished sentence continued silently. _Though there might be a few pieces captured and sacrificed before I do._

"…I'll never figure out how you do it. How you switch from creepy-as-fuck back to normal like this." Shiro snapped his fingers. "If this is your normal",  
he added, studying the human face that housed no human mind.

No, completely unfazed. Calm and untroubled and mildly surprised. And amused. Always amused; no matter how dark or hostile atmospheres were, no  
matter if ninety died or nine hundred, there always seemed to be a smile hiding in the corners of that mouth. Normal wasn't a word that applied to  
Mephisto in any form.

"Stevenson made a rather good study of that." The demon underlined the statement with a tap of the half pocky stick. "Jekyll and Hyde are one and  
the same, separated only by human conscience; which I am, quite logically, not afflicted with. That's one of the great ironies my employers in  
Headquarters have always failed to see the humour in", he continued, amusement bringing his odd cadence to bounce to the idle conducting of the  
pocky. "While humans live a lie, demons are always honest about what they are." And with a conscienceless smile and a wink, he ate the remainder  
of the stick.

The ground... was back under his feet. More solid than ever before. More hard and uncompromising than ever before.

There was no demon Mephisto or person Mephisto: there was only Mephisto. The King of Time. A demon without conscience. So gruesomely honest that  
the human mind couldn't comprehend it.

"…I'm gonna have to think about that for a while", Shiro murmured, and put a cigarette between his teeth. "And I'm gonna need my lighter."

"You come to yell at me, and then immediately leave when you're done? Tsk tsk, such manners."

Manners...?

Shiro had completely forgotten that there was such a word: completely forgotten that even if he played human lives like puppets, Mephisto would  
always crinkle his nose at sloppy ties and saucers that didn't match the cups.

Demons. Jekyll and Hyde, all at once, always.

"It's your own fault, in every way", Shiro pointed out over his shoulder, headed for the door and the long, _long _walk this would take. "I'll be having  
exams every single day for two weeks, Sir I-okay-all-schedule-drafts-while-I'm-watching-anim e. And I need grades to justify that scholarship you got me."

"Such a model student." Mephisto snapped his fingers, and the lighter returned to its usual pocket. "You will make a fine exorcist, I'm sure."

* * *

**A/N:**

**I don't use the name of any real Cardinal, since I'm not that keen on being accused of slander. I will give Tanzi the title of a real  
Cardinal, however; he can't very well go without one. =/**

There were few quotes on war strategy from Sun Tzu's _The Art of War_, and a few tweaked additions of my own to fit the chess metaphor.

**Omniscient am I not, but much is known to me  
**Quoting Göthe here, and choosing to go with his Mephisto before Kato's.

In the manga, Mephisto says "I know everything". Without _hearing _him say it, I have a hard time knowing if he means "I know everything (that  
has happened with Godain and your friends)" or "I know everything (literally _everything_)". He could probably mean the latter, given his convenient  
method of spying on anyone, but that would make him a tad OP imo. Omnipotence is no fun. ^_^' A character that knows everything and can do  
(almost) anything kills a story.

So I couldn't go with canon all the way, which I apologise for. x/ In my defence, he's just as curious as anyone else to "find out what lies ahead", as he  
puts it: so he might not know literally everything.

**The Essene** were the Christian sect that preserved and hid what we know as the Dead Sea Scrolls (that I used in arc 1). There's a fair amount of  
conspiracy theories around those, for those interested in such things.

**Surjective homeomorphism  
**I am in no way a mathematical-minded person. Merely wrapping my head around the terms I had to investigate to piece together this (admittedly  
self-contradictive) field of science made me haemorrhage from my auditory canals. I may have gotten things entirely wrong, too. x')

So, _topology_ is a field of geometry in mathematics that concerns deformation of objects in space: things, plain and simple, and how they can be  
stretched and bent in the dimensions they exist in.

_Homeomorphism_, if I have understood it correctly, is deformation from one shape to another. It's based on a set of continuous functions  
coupled with inverse functions, which in simple English means that object A will deform into object B, and then back into object A endlessly: the  
deformation only moves between object A and object B, nothing else.

That's where I added _surjection_. Surjection means that function A, B and C all can yield Q, and reversely Q can give you either A, B or C depending  
on which part of the graph (or in topology: which part of the object) you're looking at.

To sum it up, surjection is incompatible with the concept of homeomorphism; but if it theoretically _were _possible to use the two in junction, you  
would get a deformation of an object that is both erratic (turns into A, B, or C) and inconsistent between different parts of the object (one part may  
go from Q to C, while another decides to go from Q to A). You would get a house where your bathroom door could lead both to the bathroom and to  
the living room, closet, or pantry (or some stage between those) depending on the deformation of that specific part of space in the specific moment  
you open the door. You would get das Labyrinth des Limbus.


	78. 78: Choices

**A/N: I don't know... is it credible? =/ You might have to read more than once, it's hard to tell if he's made up his mind or not...**  
**  
I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Choice. The deceptively simple single-syllable word that rules every human life, and the entirety of human history. Each choice made is a chisel-stroke  
that carves the world to be: and each discarded possibility peeled away is the seed of a world that could have been.

Each choice shapes the future.

Each choice is shaped by the human who makes it.

Each choice shapes the human who makes it.

And since their very first Choice at the dawn of time, humans have excelled at choosing wrong.

* * *

"_Am I doing the right thing?_"

Shiro tapped the cigarette restlessly with a finger. Uncounted kilometres disappeared beneath his feet without taking him anywhere; smoke travelled  
in and out of his lungs without dredging up any answer. He wasn't the one pulling the trigger… but hadn't he just killed an unknown number of faceless,  
featureless pawns…?

"_Just like he did._"

Soldiers - _orphans_. Assassins - _kids_. How could words make such a difference? How is it that words decide if a victory is a loss? If the one who wins the  
loss is a hero or a murderer?

Words…

"_Yeah: all you need is words, you slippery old goat. They sure make life a hell of a lot harder for humans…_"

Mephisto didn't have any choice but to protect his secret: Shiro could understand that. If the Order found out who he really was there would be  
distrust and expulsion and a hunt that bordered on war; war with death tolls sky-high in the human ranks. In that sense, sacrificing a few to spare  
many…

"_They were kids._"

Indoctrinated kids that had never had a choice. Maybe they could have been reasoned with, could have been made to see sense and even end the  
conflict; and instead-

"_There are things you just don't do._"

There are unforgivable things, and it doesn't matter if you have a conscience or not: the act itself is- Tch, listen to the hypocrite preach! Wasn't he cold,  
when he had to? Hadn't he killed rather than reasoned? And hadn't he just made a choice that would kill even more…?

"_Fuck, I don't know, I…_" He ran a hand through his unkempt hair for the thirteenth time. Didn't clear his thoughts up one bit: embracing the imprint  
or suppressing it – what was he doing, really? "_Am I doing the right thing…?_" Leaving lives to be tossed and torn by the winds of war: not exactly the  
paragon of kindness. "_If I helped him get to the Cardinal…_" Help a demon get his claws on a man of the church? "_Hell – pick your poison, that's all it is._"

His conscience whined like a hungry dog at the back of his mind, pawing and scratching at him to do something. Well, what was he supposed to do?  
Back at the same old crossroads, with the same impossible choice: who lives and who dies? Sacrifice one to spare many…? Was it right? Was it wrong?  
Should he stand idly by and watch Mephisto hunt Tanzi down, clinging to hypocritical innocence, or should he-

"_Tch, he'll get the Cardinal, with or without my hand in it: my options are 'save people', or 'don't save people'._"

Should make the choice easier: should make it a lot easier. So why had he turned the offer down…?

"_I don't exactly care for Tanzi…_"

On the contrary: a coward who trained kids – no, _raised _kids, like lambs for slaughter – to fight his war, while he sat comfortably in a red dress in  
Italy and counted rosary beads…

"_He started this whole damn circus; let him have what's coming_", he thought grimly.

That was to simplify things. A lot. Shiro knew that. It was a different story from the Cardinal's perspective: of course it was scary to learn that Satan's  
son had wheedled himself into the Order. Of course you'd try to do what you believed was right… "_Choices: always these damn choices._" …but a man  
of the church ought to know better. Didn't they teach Forgiveness and Understanding and all those things important enough to earn capital letter?

"_That you have a crap dad doesn't mean you're crap, too. He might be a demon…_" Shiro drew a breath on his cigarette. That calm look on Mephisto's  
face, a look no human could wear when admitting something like that… "_…but hasn't he made choices?_"

Choices like leaving Gehenna for Assiah, putting his own life at stake in denouncing his father and joining the Order of the True Cross, aiding  
humans in building a force to resist the hordes of hell-

"_Training kids to fight your war_", Shiro chuckled darkly. "_And sacrificing demons to win those kids advantages in it. That's not chess you play; it's chess  
and shogi and othello, all mixed up with rules only you know._"

He blew smoke up at a darkening sky that was still light enough that you didn't feel like going to bed. A perfect night for walking. Summer paced with  
sure steps towards exams, and did her best to distract students with warm evenings and song of birds and cicadas in the heavy foliage in the parks.  
And less pleasant things. Daylight waning, he could feel the prickling attention of demons lick over his consciousness as he walked, and let his heart  
grow dead and cold in the warmth: the merry chirping fell hollow on his ears, and the magic shimmer of the sunset dulled. All around him, the world  
faded behind the veil of safety. Snug and safe like an isolation cell. No open cracks this time.

Oh, it had advantages. The reaction time between decision and action was much shorter without all sidetracking doubts laid out by compassion. The  
world around him was easier to survey tactically, with emotional response and other distractions dulled. He'd heard the word from Matsuri-sensei  
plenty of times after missions: efficient. A word a demon could use – what's an efficient exorcist, when you think about it? An efficient soldier. An  
efficient killer. A cold-hearted bloody machine.

"_If I help you capture the bishop, no other pieces need to be taken?_" he pondered, and drew another breath of smoke as he walked a world stripped  
down to its bare bones: a world of faceless chess pieces and positions that could be surrendered or defended. "_That's a nice bargain. I should take it,  
shouldn't I? You know it eats me, what I did down in Deep Keep. You know I'd have it undone if I could – that I would've saved everyone, if I'd had  
that choice._" He rested his eyes on the cigarette glow burning holes in the dusk. "_I have that choice now: you gave it to me._"

He frowned: even under lockdown, the wrongness of the words struck a chord of caution that made him shudder. Demons don't _give_: they _sell_. And  
that's where doubt gnawed at him: there had been no mention of what Mephisto would gain if he accepted the offer. Only that strange flare in  
his eyes.

"_I don't know what kind of game you play, but I'm not gonna be part of it._" Selfish. A selfish coward, just like his father; running from the mess he  
had helped create rather than- "_Fuck that_", he snarled at his thoughts. "_This ain't no ordinary mess._" Get stuck in that intricate shadow-web and you  
were never coming out of it. "_I'm not gonna be anybody's pawn: even if that means more people will die._" Shiro could almost feel the excited hiss from  
demons applaud his decision. His _choice_.

"Look tasty, do I?" he said to the night, and tapped ash off his cigarette. "Why don't you come at me, you fucks? Afraid of one puny human?"

He wasn't exactly armed, but one switchblade knife can deal good damage when the blade is soaked in holy water: and he was in the mood for fighting  
something. Thinking of impossible dilemmas frustrated him, charged his patience with a static that would somehow, sooner or later, have to be discharged.

"Tch, demons", he huffed at the darkness when nothing answered his taunt. "Always playing their bloody games."

And the more powerful they were, the more dangerous the games. It didn't bother him as much as it should have. The game. The scheme. The unspoken  
goal. Mephisto knew what he was doing: Tanzi didn't. There had never been an earthquake at St. Nicholas if there hadn't been exorcists there that knew  
secrets humans weren't supposed to know.

Humans like Shiro: how folly unites the human race! Tanzi and Fujimoto, the only two humans in the world who knew! The only two humans in the world  
that might have a chance at stopping the devil that pulled strings in the darkness.

Pff, "stop him"... Tanzi had tried, and now he was hiding in a warded bunker that would be his grave. "Stopping him" was a delusion for suicidal fools. Mephisto  
was far too smart to get caught, far too skilled at the game he played…

"_Heh… hehehehahahahaha oh you clever, sneaky son of a bitch…!_"

Far too smart to get caught, far too skilled to suffer consequences even if he were caught - but far too much of a gambler to play it safe. There's no fun  
without risk, no thrill without danger; didn't Shiro understand that better than anyone? Wasn't that why Mephisto had taken off the mask and offered  
him to play?

"_Not a pawn, but a joker._" He chuckled; chuckled the way you do when the devil reaches forth a hand and invites you to dance. "_Always appreciate a  
challenge, do you? __A game within the game, a piece that knows it's a piece and moves erratically on the board; wouldn't that be fun? Wouldn't that  
be a much more interesting game?_" Wouldn't that be one hell of a dance?

The mere fact that it tempted him spoke volumes. Fujimoto Shiro the prankster, Fujimoto Shiro the daredevil: would he actually dare the devil, and  
play his game…?

"_You'd think I have a death wish._"

Yes, but not a wish for death: a wish for life. A wish for life the way it fluttered at the top of your lungs when it sucked the breath out of you. Some  
are cut out for a run-of-the-mill existence, some aren't. Some are born to gamble at the highest stakes; drawn like moth unto flame.

There would be even more choices on the game board; terrible choices, if you had a conscience. Mephisto would make the ones that furthered his  
cause – whatever the hell that was – without thinking about it twice, but Shiro would-

"_I would be the conscience he hasn't got._"

Off the board, you can only watch the game.

On the board, you can play it.

On the board, he'd have a say against destroying orphanages and-

"_Is it worth it?_" Kasumi's voice. Kasumi's face, sincere with emotion. For him.

Shiro's fast pace geared down to a halt.

"_If Shiro-kun wants to pretend is fine, I will pretend it is._" Midori's eyes, filled with melting gold…

Choices aren't isolated events. There are ripples on the water where they fall, touching everything that lies around.

Shizuku talked to him again. Kasumi flirted back when he made advances; he would go to the crafts market with both them and Ryuuji, he had a  
scholarship to continue his studies, a promising future as an exorcist… For the first time, a promising future.

It's easier to gamble when you haven't got so much to lose; when you haven't got so _many _to lose.

_Is it worth it?_

No. No, he was better off beside the board. Tanzi was a fool for thinking he could play against Mephisto: wouldn't he be an even greater jackass, if he  
thought he could steer the game on the demon's own half of the board? No, the stakes were too high, the gains too uncertain. Leave it to the demon  
to play: to whatever end that meant.

"_I have no idea what your goal is, but…_" Shiro stomped out the cigarette butt on the paved walkway. "_…I know you want Assiah safe._" The conviction  
that held the ground firm under his feet whenever he lost himself in guesses and speculation: Mephisto wanted Assiah safe. It was a downright ridiculous  
claim to make, unless you knew who that white-clad jester really was. "_You could've destroyed it all long ago if you wanted to. You could've enslaved  
humanity in a day and built a new Gehenna with yourself as king. It's been a thousand years and more, and you still haven't._" The strangeness of it  
all condensed into a small smile on his lips; the kind of smile Midori smiled, aglow with secrets and the soft warmth of knowing not in mind, but in  
heart. "_You may not have a conscience, but you really do like humans._"

Not all who knew Mephisto's identity had made that connection, however. Cardinal Tanzi ought to have put two and two together when he learnt Samael's  
true name: instead, he had chosen to wage war against the most powerful demon that had ever set foot in Assiah. Attack in chess, and you will receive  
due response.

"_I don't know what you think, Mephisto, but to me he sounds like an idiot._"

* * *

Smart people can make stupid choices, and stupid people can make smart choices: because Choice is a wild guess veiled in the illusion of free will.  
Choice, just like Chance, is a deceptive nature, revealing its true form only in the curves and dents of the future it creates: whether a choice is right  
or wrong is left for time to uncover. But, regardless, some things will always be true.

Each choice shapes the future.

Each choice is shaped by the human who makes it.

Each choice shapes the human who makes it.

…and even at the dawn of time, when humans made their very first Choice, the options were whispered into their ears with serpentine sweetness.

* * *

**A/N: **_**Serpentine **_**means "winding, twisting", but I also find it fun, in this context, that it's derived from the Latin word for **_**snake**_**.**

**Who else plays chess, shogi and othello at once, with messed-up rules? Orihara Izaya… (Sometimes I wonder what would happen  
if these two met. I think Armageddon is a fair guess.)**


	79. 79: Names

**A/N: Okay... Never written a chapter like this before. Are you ready? Am I ready? Well, here goes...  
**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

_Samael_

For as long as he could remember, he had only heard one voice speak that name - ah, depending on how one would define 'speak', of course. The  
spoken word was ever his ally: it was shield and sword and dagger, key and lock and chain; truly, there were words for every need. The unspoken  
word, however…

One word spoken may have the power to lay nations in ruin, but the unspoken word can rend the fabric of a world: there is no lock to keep it out, no  
shield to guard against those silent syllables that could send memories unbidden rippling through flesh and mind.

_Samael_

Names are powerful things. There had been a time when Matter was pulled out of the Void by Name alone, and given the shape and purpose inherent  
in that one true Name. Those had been glorious days, stupendous days; days of marvel at the power that reverberated throughout Creation; from  
the timid dewdrops on a blade of grass to the slow breath of newborn mountains, that power, that splendour… faded.

Ages had passed since then, and Names once radiant had faded: light dimmed, darkness greyed, edges unsharpened; a driftwood world abandoned to  
the river of time, shorn by disasters and smoothed slowly back to the nothingness from which it once rose. Ages, ages past count and contemplation.  
Now was the Age of Man, and new creation shaped the world: too weak to know true power, too young to remember Names, humans shrank from the  
Void in awe and turned to things their minds could understand – and how they used their minds! Ever curious, ever yearning for more than they  
possessed, they rode high on achievements' intoxication in search of new things to desire and obtain; claimed the thrones of gods and shaped the  
world to the whims of a thousand minds, shaped it twisted and horrid and beautiful! So many new things, so many new names, and amidst it all…

_Samael_

…amidst it all, an echo transported across millennia through the mouth of a mere human boy. A Name from an age when names held true power; an  
age when there had been Beings in the world that knew how to speak those Names and command that power.

An echo…

In that boy's face today, there had been an echo… an echo of kings and warlords long dead; great men of great name in the world of Assiah. The faint,  
dying echoes of the Ones that could speak Names.

"_A pawn, Shiro…?_" The corners of his lips curled as he picked up the stray piece. "Don't humble yourself, little lion", he murmured softly, watching with  
lidded eyes how the dimming light reflected off matte black as he turned the pawn between his fingers. "Humility is ill suited for the paths you will be  
walking." The game piece returned to its proper place with the smooth, barely audible click of well-greased cogs turning. "Men like you take life not in  
single steps but strides." Gloved fingertips walked slowly across the line of marble: castle, knight, bishop… "And reach road's end sooner."

His finger lingered on the queen: an unstoppable force, able to move in any direction, ready go to any lengths at one swift command from the game master.

_Samael_

One day, perhaps, if Lady Chance would have it so; if that blazing fire didn't burn itself out before then, before that little lion grew proper fangs…

"Slave under the yoke of Curiosity, yet each weight Knowledge adds to your burden spurs your desire for more; is it not a twisted, vicious circle, Shiro~?  
Is it not a beautifully mesmerizing maelstrom into the dark depths, where jagged teeth of rock lie in wait for prey?" he purred, tongue curling around  
the words like a serpent's tail. "So many broken bodies litter the abyss of Temptation; so many souls eaten empty that consume themselves in rapture…  
but you won't be one of them, little lion." The queen tilted under his finger, tilted to stare up at him without face or eyes. "Men like you don't break  
from Temptation's fall, nor perish in the fires of Perdition: men like you rise out of the pit like shadows of shadows born; emerge from flame tempered  
strong like fine steel." The grin widened as his eyes traced the paths of the future – oh, what a future! – and the possibilities they promised. "What a  
man you could become, Shiro~"

It was in the nature of every human to shape the world around her; but it was men like him, men with iron will and hearts strong enough to act on  
it, that shaped humans. Great men that shaped the great milestones of human history.

Fujimoto Shiro - ah, surely, one day that name would leave an echo of its own in the consciousness of men. A most peculiar aspect of names, that  
was: while Names shaped their bearers, plain human names… were shaped by the bearer.

_Samael_

How very different it sounded, coming from a human mouth. Not a Name, but a name: a mundane name without meaning, unshackled with the  
potential to be whatever its speaker wished it to be. Indeed, names… were powerful things.

"_I long to see what kind of name you will shape for yourself, my lion._" Laughter wound its way up his throat; a trickling snicker at first, and a spring  
flood by the time it spilled from his lips. It ricocheted off the walls, washed down the windows like heavy rain, and made the leaves of the plants in  
the office curl in on themselves protectively. "Won't be moved by me, you say~?" Gloved fingers swept the black pawn up from the board and dangled  
it above his head, like one would hold a praline before letting it fall into one's mouth. "That's the beauty of this game, Shiro." The toothy grin widened:  
a jagged ravine at the bottom of the maelstrom. "The pieces move themselves: all it takes is a little… motivation~"

* * *

**A/N: ****The manga will probably hang me later for playing with names like this: but I will keep playing, die smiling, and regret nothing. ^w^****  
**

**Beings that can speak Names?**  
Have you thought of how strange Tamers are? Humans that can call demons to appear and make them do their bidding, I mean… holy crap. 8/ How do  
they do that? And why can only some humans do that?

Two conditions are set for becoming a Tamer: you need strong spirit, and something Neuhaus vaguely calls "natural talent". Those who lack spiritual  
strength will find that summoned demons disobey them, as we've seen with Kamiki: those who lack "natural talent" can't make demons come to  
them at all.

So what is this mysterious "natural talent" that somehow gives certain people a connection with demons? I substituted "natural talent" with the  
somewhat more tangible "strong blood" in this fic (you don't remember that, but I wrote it in ch 11). Going back to Kamiki, she thinks it's obvious  
that she can summon familiars, since she's related to a miko. Based on that, I'm chancing a guess that "natural talent" would be something you're  
born with, and something that can run in families: thus, "strong blood".

Well, I play and twist and splice fragments together like a mad scientist… and my thought here is that that strong blood used to be much stronger,  
long ago, when Creation was young and the Beings that could speak Names (= call upon things) and command the power Names gave (= make the  
things they called upon do their bidding) still walked the earth. The abilities you see in Tamers are diluted echoes of their power.

Who those Beings were…? Well, a little bit of reading and a little bit of guesswork, and I'm sure you will figure it out. ;)

**This chapter is the last you get for quite a while, as I will be going on vacation to Japan. =) Now, I really hope I will return from it, too:  
but in the event that I get hit by a car, or boil to death in an onsen, I'll take the opportunity to thank all you lovely people who read  
The End of the Beginning. Some of you I've gotten to know pretty well; others I know only by (staggering!) numbers in the diagrams,  
but thank you _everyone_ for reading.**

/ Dimwit


	80. 80: Mind matters

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

"Good luck with Knight."

When your sworn enemy wishes you luck, warning bells should go off. Shiro's sole excuse for being deaf to them was that he had been listening to Kita  
with half an ear – if even that – while the greater part of his overworked brain was absorbed in whether or not he'd gotten it right with the stoichiometric  
calculations for the antidotes against spider bites.

The Doctor course was a massive one, and largely theoretical in nature. Shiro's head felt like a mushy, over-ripe peach after the five-hour exam, and his  
pen-hand might never recuperate. He would have his exam in biology the day after, and he was not looking forward to it. Might even be worth trying one  
of Sayuri Moriyama's experimental herb lotions to keep the stiffness from reaching all the way up to his shoulder.

Thankfully, next exam was purely practical.

Kita's words came back to him when the speaker asked the holder of starting tag number 8 to enter the examination area. "Good luck with Knight" -  
perhaps with a tiny, tiny hint of irony…?

"Don't eat sugihira mushroom, Shiro-kun!" Midori beamed, and waved with her entire arm as he left the antechamber and headed out into the arena.

"Sure thing – why ever the hell I'd do that…" He gave a short wave as he walked, and tossed his head to get the darn hair out of his eyes.

"Means 'don't do stupid things'!" he heard her say before the steel door shut behind him.

Knight exam looked a lot like a gladiator game in a Roman coliseum. The fancier coliseums had been designed so that the terrain could be changed to  
host battles in both open arena, city environment, or at sea: True Cross Academy chose an easier variety, by having Futotsuki-sensei summon a kitsune  
that created an illusion in the arena. To Shiro's relief, he got a city environment. Ryuuji had been worrying him with tales of lava pits full of salamanders;  
something he'd heard from his brother, but Shiro had strongly suspected that was just Ryuuji being played.

The exam took place in the great pit where students usually practiced close-combat against leapers, goblins and such. With a little help from the kitsune,  
it was now vastly larger than in reality, and refurbished with buildings, cars, benches, cables leaping from lamppost to lamppost: everything. A real, proper  
city.

"_I should be used to these things by now._" He touched the wall of a pharmacy, and felt the perfectly rendered surface of rough stone under his fingers.  
"_But it's just so damn cool._"

The demons they faced in exams were fairly low-level ones, decided by lottery just like the order the students entered. Shiro could vaguely feel a presence  
off to the right, gripped his katana tighter, and cast an eye around. Rush straight to the target and the teachers – who were sitting in the metal hub  
above, or around the edge of the pit – might think he was cheating somehow.

It was a bit eerie, in fact. The landscape was perfect, down to the occasional cracked pavement tile on the sidewalk; but the attention paid to every lifelike  
detail only highlighted the fact that the city was dead. It was an empty shell that the mind populated with phantom reflections in shop windows and  
imaginary movements in the corner of one's eye. And it was very much like going back in time with Mephisto.

Shiro circled a few blocks deliberately, making his way towards the demon as if he was searching blindly for it. The katana felt heavy and slippery in his  
hands. Nerves? He rarely felt that, when his mind was focused and his heart closed. He hadn't thought he had let slip that much.

…no, he _hadn't _let slip.

Shiro paused under the blue marquis of a grocery store. The tip of the sword was quivering in is grip. He stared mutely at it, half expecting an explanation  
to leap off the blade. The faint motion mirrored in the wide, dark window of the store, where a ghost reflection of him was framed in bright red kanji that  
advertised fresh vegetables. He sure looked funny; hair hanging down over his glasses, and those strings Mephisto had given him to hang on them, and-

-and-

Shiro stared at the sword in his hand, heartbeat rushing into his throat. Blood. He didn't know where the hell that came from, but his katana was dripping  
with blood, and he-

_plunged the sword into Katsu's gut his face went empty with surprise and the blade went all the way in like-_

Shiro dropped the sword with a gasp. …there was no blood on it. He stared at it for the longest time, aware only of the rhythmic heaving of air in his chest.

"_What is this?_" Memories of Deep Keep flitted before his eyes and whipped his heart rate into thunder. "_What the hell is this? The demon isn't here, I can  
still feel it at least two blocks away it hasn't moved it hasn't-_" Close your heart. Focus. Survey the situation and make logic decisions. "_Whatever it is, it's  
only in my head. I'll find the demon, finish the exam, and then I'll find out what's going on._"

He bent to pick the katana up – and pulled back as if it had been a venomous snake. Blood gushed out between his fingers, _pulsed_, heartbeat in his hands-

"What did you do, Shiro-kun…?"

He stumbled around, hiding his hands behind his back.

"Midori-chan? I- uh, is it your turn already…?"

She shook her head with a weak smile-

_a smile for the lost_

"Is your turn", she breathed with tears in her voice. "I saw it. I'm sorry, Shiro-kun."

Her words grew icicles in his lungs. She _saw_…?

An eternity passed, from the moment she raised her sword to strike until his body reacted and moved. An eternity looped around the fear of that very  
moment-

_she knows what you did_

The sharp song of steel cut the air where Shiro had stood. He twisted mid-jump and landed on all-fours, barely touching ground before he leapt for  
his own sword. No time for thinking about blooded hands, unless he wanted the blood to be his own-

The reflection in the shop-window caught his eye for a split second: and the fingers that curled around the handle were limp and powerless…

_one doesn't have to be born a demon to be like one you were never a saint to begin with_

…and bore claws.

"No…"

He hadn't felt anything, he _couldn't_ be possessed – could he? Midori should know: she always saw the core of things, but she-

Raised her sword in the reflection, with tears streaming down her cheeks: raised it for a kneeling execution-

_a mercy-kill for one she couldn't save_

"No!"

This couldn't be happening, he wasn't that far gone, _he wanted to be saved dammit!_

Shiro twisted and met her blade with his own, met her crying eyes that said she was doing this _for him_. For his sake, for his own good – before he  
could hurt anyone again.

"Midori, I'm not a demon! It's me, it's Shiro!" He blocked heavy blows with steel that only grew heavier in his hands. She should _know _it was him,  
fuck's sake, she should _smell _that it was-! Maybe _she_ was possessed? "_Then why the hell is my reflection the one with horns?_" This didn't make  
sense – _nothing_ made sense…! "It's the idiot that walked in on you and Sen!"

"It was in your eyes, when you came back smelling of him: death." She advanced with silent tears running down her cheeks, aiming to trap him  
against the wall. "It found a home in you, the dreamless sleep. Is not going away."

Midori… always saw the core of things…

"You hold on to it, Shiro-kun", she sobbed, adjusting her grip on the sword. "Is not going away. I'm sorry, Shiro-kun, I am."

Shiro dodged the next sweep and circled out onto the deserted street, feeling strings of control coming undone. This was insane - try as he may, he  
couldn't separate what was real and what wasn't. Was that the real Midori or some illusion? Was he possessed or was she? The demon wasn't even  
_close_, how did something like this...!?

"It's a mistake!" The sword was lead in his hands, and he had to remember what Gokuro-sensei had taught him about using his muscles without  
damaging them. "Look, the demon must've done something with us! Whatever you think you're doing, stop it!"

Those words…

His voice rang muffled in his ears, as if coming from far away – as if the atmosphere was different, as it had been when-

"Shut your mouth", Agari's voice hissed from Midori's lips – or was it only in his mind?

_cut her throat and killed her watched her fall down dead like a doll_

…overlapping his vision… like multiple exposure in a photography… he was there again…

_she will kill you unless you kill her_

Agari raised her sword to strike, and he thrust forward on reflex-

-Midori's bright golden eyes wide with horror-

_it found a home in you and you will kill again you will kill everyone you love_

Shiro tweaked his blade aside with a terrified gasp - _what the hell was he doing!? - _and Midori's sank through the flesh in his arm like a spoon through jelly.

"Haahngh…!" That was real, that was _fucking _real…! "_Don't drop the blade, whatever the hell you do, don't drop the blade!_" It was so heavy, and it hurt  
so bad, but he had to hold it up to block…! "_Allow the muscle fibres to contract smoothly, not in a jerky manner, and not for too extended periods of time_",  
Gokuro-sensei's words flashed through his mind, and he clumsily prevented Midori – Agari? Midori? – from skewering his liver.

_she will kill you..._

Shiro's heart rushed adrenaline through him at mad velocities, drowned the pain in his arm and beat sound out of his ears – everything happened so  
suddenly… and his mind was slowly cornered into detachment, considering what it might have to do to survive.

_...unless you kill her_

It crawled out into his tissues, crept under his skin and choked reason with thick, buzzing webs of fear: fear of what was happening, fear of himself, fear of-

"_I don't understand what's real and what's-_"

…multiple… exposure…?

In the shop window, behind Midori… there was one more shape moving in her reflection.

"_It all started when I looked at the reflection._"

Hyperventilating through clenched teeth, Shiro backed away from Midori and raised his sword with both arms fully extended, tip aimed right between his  
eyes. And thrust.

A thin squeal, and the pain was gone. Midori was gone, the wound in his arm was gone; and a small breath of miasma swished away from his face, headed  
in the direction of the demon's presence.

Shiro relaxed his tense muscles smoothly and let the katana slip out of his grip onto the dusty asphalt.

"Reflecting surfaces", he breathed, taking a moment to let his heart and nerves settle down. It fell off him like snow from a pine in winter wind: big,  
heavy sheets of glistening cold fear, releasing their grip on his mind. "_It was just illusion... just illusion... thank god..._"

He knew what he was fighting, finally: an ikelos. A demon that preyed on one's darkest fears and gave them form. They usually tapped into sleeping  
minds, since they were more susceptible to that kind of influence, but some of the stronger ones – the shape-shifters – could possess objects.

…one thing had not been an illusion created by the ikelos. The sword was much lighter when Shiro picked it up again, but when he jogged towards the  
demon's presence it grew heavier: slowly but steadily heavier. "Good luck with Knight"?

"_Good luck with Knight when you've got a _baryon_ possessing the sword!_"

Stupid bloody thing, he should've realised…! But he had been too focused on the presence of the demon ahead to notice the weak, inert one he had  
literally in his hand.

Shiro was about to exorcise it, but thought better of it. No, he'd keep the sword like this and show the teachers after exams: Kita would hang, he'd  
make damn sure of that.

It was obvious, when he peeked around the corner of a barbershop and saw it: a visible, oozing veil of miasma hovering over the windshield of a parked  
car, and little stolons trotting about on stilty legs around it.

"_How was that chant again…?_" Shiro leaned his head back against the brick wall and closed his eyes for a moment. "_Kakariko kokekokko… Kokuriko  
kikkiree._" The best thing about studying all classes at once: you always had something to fall back on. Shiro opened his eyes, put one index finger to  
his forehead, and spoke the words aloud. "_That big, huh…?_" It rose out of the windshield like a huge, twisted jack-in-the-box of liquid darkness. Shiro  
gripped the katana with both hands and drew a deep breath. "_Right…_"

Windshields are made to be sturdy. If hit, they can crack and bend, but they aren't likely to shatter: unless you have a sword weighted by a baryon,  
and inhuman strength to swing it around with.

* * *

The exit opened to the smooth hum of automatic machinery as the speakers crackled and told the holder of tag number 9 to prepare for Knight  
examination. Shiro dragged himself through the wide doorway, stained black by miasma residue… and felt the weight evaporate from the sword. The  
presence of a weak demon flitted briefly against his senses, and disappeared. A glance at the base of the steel frame revealed a small cup of salt on  
each side, along with wards: safeguards against demons leaving the examination area. Of course.

"_Aren't you a clever little fucker?_"

Which by no means meant Kita was getting away with this.

* * *

The only good thing with exams was that regular classes were on hold until they were over: two exams a day, and the rest of the day off.

That's not to say it wasn't taxing. Most students had twelve-or-so exams to take, if they had cram school on the side: Shiro had stopped counting his  
after sixteen, and decided that looking further ahead in the calendar than three days was probably very detrimental to his health.

The day he set his eyes on was the one when he would go to the crafts market with his friends.

"Gotta tame this shrub before that", he muttered at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he eyed his next opponent: his hair. It was so long he should  
be able to make a tiny ponytail in the neck, and he could imagine Kasumi's delight in doing precisely that. "_I'll just cut it today, save the bleaching for  
tomorrow._" And add the final touches of cutting as he did: it was always a bother, getting it right at the back of his head with just a handheld mirror and  
a pair of scissors.

"_What the…?_"

When Shiro was done, he stared at his reflection. Getting an even cut in dead angles was the least of his worries.

* * *

**Sugihira mushroom** - is called Angel Wing in English, which is a fitting name both visually and in terms of what it does to you if you eat it.

**Ikelos** - means "likeness" in Greek, and is one of the names of Phobetor, the embodiment of nightmares.

**Kakariko kokekokko** - ...I just couldn't keep myself from it. =w=' If there _were _a chant like that, I'd use it forever and always: "Attack, my invincible  
chickens!" ÒwÓ (good thing Dimwit can't become an exorcist) I don't know how many times I got myself killed in Kakariko Village just 'cause I couldn't  
stop bothering the chickens... x'D


	81. 81: Playing with fire

**A/N: …**_**he**_** did it. ê_ê *points to Shiro* I have no idea what went through his mind; he just did it.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created. Jag tvivlar på att det någonsin kommer att bli ändring på det, heller.  
**

* * *

Not bothering with knocking, Shiro pushed the white double doors open and trotted into Mephisto's office. It looked the same as usual: traditional  
Japanese construction coupled with posh, old European furniture that looked soft but was brick-hard to sit on. And Mephisto sat behind his desk, as  
usual.

The world didn't care if he was King of Time or plotted gruesome vengeance against an Italian Cardinal. The world minded its own business and let  
everyone else – demon and human alike – mind theirs. The world is incredibly nonchalant in that sense.

Mephisto's desk had suffered an influx of even more misplaced children's toys since Hello Kitty had made its real break-through. Shiro had seen a  
headband with the weird little cat when he went to buy food just a few days ago, and had spared a moment to wonder if Mephisto would wear it if he  
gave it to him.

"Evening, Cuddlebun." The demon looked up from the summaries on exams so far. "Imprint acting up again, I think."

"Imprint, you say?" There went the lighter: he really should put it in a different pocket. "And here I thought you actually missed me."

Purely out of instinct, Shiro ducked – and a shriek sailed past his head as the wastebasket panda missed its target, hit the backrest of an armchair at  
an awkward angle, and landed gracelessly on the floor.

"No, but I did miss this little guy." He sat down on his haunches by the wailing, rolling familiar. "Hello, you little pest." It wailed higher, and wiggled back  
and forth. "You brought this on yourself, you know." The wails became more miserable, and the dark patches around its eyes changed shape, as of  
eyebrows tilting to show dejection. "Nope, not gonna cut it. My kidneys still don't forgive you." He bopped the panda's button nose with a finger, and  
smiled as it gurgled and snapped at him. "I'm only helping you 'cause I can't stand your whining, you hear me?" He lifted the wastebasket back up on  
its, uh, bottom end – and scowled. There was something… else… "Right, right: I see", he sighed, and fished around his pocket for the starting tag from  
Knight exam. "Look, jumping on people is how you get treats from _him_", he stabbed a thumb in Mephisto's direction. "With me it's fine to just… come  
rubbing up against my leg, or something. Eat this and be quiet."

Shiro had deliberately ignored Mephisto in favour of the panda, and was rather surprised – disappointed, even – that he didn't get any sulky remark for it.  
But he hadn't seen the very attentive, very interested looks Mephisto had been giving him while being ignored: and when he did turn to face the principal,  
those looks were gone as if they had never been there.

"When do I get treats for being a good demon?" He leaned back in his high-backed chair and cocked his head to the side with a sweet smile.

"I can toss trash at you too, if you like." Shiro stood and stretched, feeling his muscles remind him of the day's exams. "Anyways, weird stuff's been  
happening. I cut my hair today-"

"With marginal improvement."

Somewhere, in a parallel dimension, Mephisto was not a principal but a hairdresser.

"Compliment duly noted", he smiled with mock politeness. "And do you notice anything besides that?"

"You missed a bit, just above your right ear."

Strike the previous: he was a hairdresser in this dimension, albeit not a practicing one.

"Well, I'll fix that later. Anything _else_…?" He strolled up to the desk to give him a better look.

"Looks about the same to me."

"Exactly." Shiro ran a hand through his prickly hair. "There should be a black growth at least two centimetres long, but there's nothing: it's white down  
to the roots. And I haven't bleached it in a month."

Nothing more effective than to kindle a demon's curiosity. Mephisto beckoned him over, rose, and proceeded to tug off his gloves. Damn, he was tall… Well,  
Shiro was aware of that by now, of course: aware of it, but acutely reminded of just _how_ tall he was when he stood right in front of Mephisto and was a  
whole head shorter.

"Is there anything else different with it, save the colour?" The principal combed through his hair and ground hairs together between his fingers to produce  
a rustling, sand-like sound.

"It's thicker, I think. And stiffer." The scraping of claws against his scalp made Shiro tense… But the touch was light, and the exploring fingers gentle; and  
when he stole a glance up at the demon's face… "_He's being… cautious…?_" Oh, but he had to be. If you can snap beams thick as a man's arm, you have  
to be very cautious around something as frail as humans. "I'm thinking that might be the reason you couldn't fix it for Hyakki Yagyou", he added, talking  
to Mephisto's cravat.

"Plausible…" Fingers moved to Shiro's chin, and the tip of the thumb's nail fleetingly touched his lip as Mephisto tilted his face upwards.

This… was starting to feel awkward.

"Your eyebrows; were they white before?"

"Um…" He preferred staring into the god-awful cravat, he decided. It was a lot harder to speak with those sharp green eyes scrutinizing him so close: so  
close you could distinguish a faint corona of blue around the reptile pupils. "I'm not sure. I used to bleach them, but it was bothersome in the long run,  
so I only did it every other time I bleached the hair or so. I don't remember if I did them last time or not. But either way", he detached himself from  
Mephisto's fingers, "they shouldn't be white anymore."

"And yet, they are." The demon tilted his head to the side and let his eyes roam across Shiro's face once more. "What of your beard?"

"What beard? You gotta have a magnifying glass to see the few hairs I've got", he huffed, running a hand over his barely scratchy chin. "But it's been  
even less visible than before, now that I think about it… Probably white, too." For a split second, he thought Mephisto was going to keep inquiring  
about the state of his hair in various places. _That _would've been awkward...

"I don't think the imprint did this", he mused, stroking his goatee in thought. "Indirectly, perhaps. Three things are known that can cause this kind of  
change in the body, and those are malnourishment, stress, and shock." He counted them on his hand, thumb to middle finger. "Your stress level can be  
presumed to have been rather high, with studying for five Meisters. And then we have the incident in Deep Keep." He tugged the gloves back on as he  
spoke, and the claws vanished into space that didn't exist outside them. "A human body isn't meant for that kind of power. That you survived is nothing  
short of a miracle, but had you survived without a single mark to show for it I would've doubted you were human at all." Once clad again, his hands  
came to rest on his hips. "A shock of that magnitude could definitely be traumatic enough to make your hair turn white prematurely."

"So it's always gonna be like this…?" One step closer to the old lady-look Kasumi had predicted for him: wonderful.

"Yes – unless you dye it."

"Why would I?" Shiro took a step back, for personal space. "Saves me the trouble of bleaching it once a month." A sudden thought hit him, and he burst  
out laughing – to Mephisto's bewilderment. "Fufufufu well~ I figured you'd give me grey hairs one day", he said, stroking his chin and pulling a crooked grin  
to go with the gesture. "Just didn't think it would be this soon."

"Such an unjust accusation: leave you to your own devices and you wouldn't live long enough to grow grey hairs at all", he countered dryly, taking a step  
forward to maintain the distance between them.

"Good thing I have a guardian angel to look out for me, then." Shiro took another step back, and crossed his arms with a cheeky look. "What would your  
fellow demons say of that title?"

"I'm sure they would find it highly amusing", he snickered, advancing a step into Shiro's private sphere. "And the Roman Curia would vomit blood. I always  
did wonder why you bleach your hair, though. Initially, I thought it was because of your name."

Shiro simply stared.

"Seriously? What kind of idiot would dye his hair to fit his name?" He stepped backwards again: more pointedly this time. "Other guys can worry about  
straight ties and creased trousers. Girls notice that kind of stuff up close: a guy with white hair they're gonna spot a mile away in any crowd."

Mephisto looked like he hadn't considered that aspect, but that he did see the point in it: and he took another step forward.

"…is this some new weird game of yours? Mirroring my movements like that?"

"There's an interesting expression passing over your features when I do – too brief to be properly studied, but nonetheless noticeable." Such an annoying  
smile, and even more annoying to have it dropped on your head from high above. "Does my proximity make you _edgy_, Shiro-pon~?"

Shiro was about to threaten his curl – he _had_ promised to tug it if it was within range, and it definitely was – but was suddenly overcome with a much…  
_better… _idea.

…actually, it wasn't better. It was stupid, and risky, and he couldn't understand why he would even come up with such a-

Screw it: it would be fun.

"Don't know if 'edgy' is the right thing to call it…" he said with a sassy drawl, and stroked his fingers down the tress of purple hair that he had once clipped  
with a katana. "What would you suggest, prince of words and wit?"

"Playing along, all of a sudden?" Mephisto made no move in response to the advance: only looked very, very curious of what would come next. "To what  
end, I wonder~?"  
_  
Know your enemy, and you can lead him wherever you like_.

"Wanna find out…?" Shiro closed the distance between them, every nerve in his body curled into a tight, quivering knot. "_I might not be your type, but I  
know how my enemy works._" And there's nothing more effective than to kindle a demon's curiosity: "Then play the game~"

"I could lose my job for that." Calm voice, calm face - and the hungry glow of lust seared the edges of them both.

"Only if they find out", he pointed out with a sly smile. "There's many things you've done that the Order doesn't know of, right? Something minor like this…"  
He trailed a finger down Mephisto's silk cravat, and hooked it into the buttoning of the tailcoat with a suggestive tug. "This… what's the word for it…?"

"I think you'll have to elaborate a bit on what you mean: it's difficult, at present, to find the proper word without more… solid_… _material_._" A hand found the  
small of Shiro's back, and pushed his hips to rest against Mephisto's legs.

Oh, he was an idiot, playing with fire like this – but the _thrill_…!

"_I'd make a fine demon_", he thought, recognising the tantalizing tug of instincts that weren't his: instincts that took pleasure in leading and luring and  
manipulating. "I'm bound to agree, your highness", Shiro followed on, pitching his voice and expression to perfection. "It's difficult to find the right words  
when distracted. Nothing against your taste in clothes…" he let a wicked leer onto his lips, "…but I think I'd find them less distractive if they weren't on  
you. Einsu…" He undid the top button of the tailcoat. "Zuwei~?" Fingered the second button…

"Keep those hands in check, Shiro", he purred in a way that spoke the opposite of his words, "or I might have to show you entirely different ways to do  
a tie~" And with the expertise of a stage magician, Mephisto yanked the garment from his neck in one fluid motion.

"Durei~" Last button undone: Shiro ran his hands slowly up the burgundy shirt that covered the demon's skeletal chest, leaning in as if to kiss him,  
and peeled the tailcoat from his shoulders as he did. "_This-had-better-work-or-I'm-in-real-deep-shit._" Mephisto followed the motion to let it slide off his  
arms… "_I win._" … and was left wide-open when Shiro assaulted his midriff.

"Nh-what are-iheheheheihihihihiii!" Reflex bent his thin body to counter the tickling, and he was effectively halted by the tailcoat that held his arms back.  
"Nheh-ah-ahhahahaa you little devi-nyahahahahahaaa st-stop thi-hihihihihii!"

"No can do, I fear!" Shiro's cheeks cramped, as did every other muscle in his body, when he struggled to prevent Mephisto from throwing him off. "I simply  
_can't _keep my hands off such an _exceptionally _good-looking demon!"

"You-hihiihii-you'llpayforthisyou-fuahahaahahahaha -ah-ah-_awfu_-ahahahahaha!" He managed to wrap his arms protectively around his abdomen, and  
prompted Shiro to find new ways of keeping his advantage. "Ow! Ow ow ow stop iiiit!"

"Such an un-manly shriek, your highness~" Shiro didn't let go of the hair curl until Mephisto tried to shrug his tailcoat back on and free his arms, and in  
the process left himself open again. "Still got trouble finding the proper words, have you?" he grinned from ear to ear as the demon tottered on his feet  
and virtually _cried_ from laughter. "I think what you're looking for might be 'uncivilized, insolent, double-crossing mo-'"

Shiro didn't hear the gleeful squeak over Mephisto's laughter: and by the time he did, it was too late to duck.

The panda hit him right between the shoulders. Lovely. He fell headfirst into Mephisto, who was too uncoordinated to stand properly anyway: and, in all,  
it was no great surprise that they ended up on the floor. With the panda bouncing happily around them, waiting for its reward.

"_Like bloody shoujo manga_", Shiro groaned inwardly. He'd managed to halt his fall before he landed flat on Mephisto; although, in terms of suggestive  
positions, their current one wasn't much better. "Your panda is never getting treats from me again", he informed the face below his.

"You should be more concerned with what treats you will bribe _me_ with, if I'm ever to forgive you for this."

He did look rather affronted, Shiro decided, as laughter slowly abated from the demon's features.

"Well~ you wanted know to what end I was playing along, so…" He shrugged as best he could with his wrists caught in iron grips at each side of Mephisto's  
shoulders. "I guess the morale of this is 'curiosity killed the cat'?"

Or soaked it in vinegar, if he read the demon's face right. The tips of his eyebrows practically touched at the base of his nose, and there was an unmistakable,  
rhythmic twitching in his curl: in all, he looked lovely. Perfectly pissed and perfectly lovely. It would take a generous bribe to wipe that look from his face,  
and even then it wouldn't-

"You're gonna give me hell for this no matter what I bribe you with, aren't you?" Shiro inquired matter-of-factly.  
_  
You think?_ said the one quirked eyebrow that answered him.

"In that case, I'll just wait for payback to bite me", he said, no longer able to hold back a self-satisfied grin. Better savour the moment while it lasted:  
payback would bite hard. "'cause no matter what your face says, you do enjoy a good game of wit." No reply, save an even more sour look. "_Sulk all  
you like, but you're not denying that I'm right._" Shiro wiggled fingers that were starting to feel rather numb from lack of blood. "Now, would you mind  
letting me go, so you can plot your gloriously sweet revenge in private…?"

Mephisto's look changed from one of irritation to one of saccharine malice and poisoned promises.

"Sweet it will be, rest assured of that~"

With those words, he let go and snapped his fingers.

*splash*

"_Should've guessed as much._"

The water wasn't deep, but it was _cold_ – and the bottom was covered with rocks, which his knees had hit with jarring force. Shiro stumbled up on his feet  
with colourful curses and tried to determine where he was. Nothing but trees around – wonderful, Mephisto had dumped him in the middle of nowhe- Ah,  
no, not in the middle of nowhere. He recognised that outcropping rock, and the partly hidden ward that hung under it: he had landed in the well Midori  
used for bathing.

Shiro sighed, then chuckled to himself as he fished his tie out of the water.

"Yeah, I'm an idiot…" Mephisto could have snapped his bones like twigs in their tussle, even if he didn't mean to. Playing with fire like that… "_I wouldn't  
get old enough grow grey hairs, you're damn right about that._"

Was it worth it?

Shiro got his sopping wet feet up on land, hoping to leave that question behind. Playing with fire was a dangerously addictive bad habit, and one bad  
habit leads to another. Playing with fire was fun: playing with hellfire… was starting to become his new addiction.

Some people aren't programmed for survival: Shiro was willing to admit he was one of them. He was reckless – he certainly was – but he wasn't stupid.  
He kept a respectful distance to the grand games Mephisto played, but the smaller ones they played on their private two-man board were simply too much  
of a temptation to pass up. Reckless, but not stupid: at least he hoped s-

"Right…" Shiro groaned at the deepening shadows. A cigarette hung from his lips, and his hand was in an empty trouser pocket. "_Not gonna see that  
lighter ever again. And it was such a good one..._" Cigarette lolling between his lips, and shoes squishing out water with every step, he set a medium pace  
down towards the distant noises of the night market. "_I'm not taking it back, if he gives it to me: he'd probably tamper with it to make it blow up in my  
face or something._"

Oh, come now: Mephisto's revenge would be more spectacular than that! Anything less than getting his hair dyed pink and being paraded through True  
Cross Town naked would be a disappointment. Curiosity killed the cat, indeed, and it's true not only for demons: a curdling tension tickled Shiro's gut  
when he tried to guess what Mephisto would do. Heavens knew that particular demon was a creative bastard… and even more so when his grandiose  
ego had taken such a fine bruising.

"_…_worth it", he grinned to himself, thinking back on Mephisto's acerbic glares: an addiction difficult to resist.

* * *

**A/N:**

**White overnight?  
**You can't find any evidence that says shock/trauma could make hair white "overnight", but I have seen something to that effect happen to my adoptive  
uncle (people who don't have kids can adopt kids, so I don't see why people who don't have uncles couldn't adopt an uncle). He went from sandy blonde  
to white in a week or so, after falling and breaking a few ribs – and since this is fiction, I'll take my chances and stretch the concept. ^_^'

**Idiots…**  
What kind of idiot would dye his hair to fit his name? An idiot like Kinzo Shima…? xD Oh, but I like that guy. So stupid, random, and loveable. (kin = gold,  
shiro = white) So, although we see a Shiro with grey hair in the anime, I will run with it as white. Because it fits his name. (Obviously, I am the kind of  
idiot that would do something like that. x'D ) I don't think he'd keep dying it until he's old, so this kind of explanation… works?


	82. 82: Brewing storm

**A/N: *anxiously sticks head into ff* Um, hello…? Anyone still there? Sorry for being silent for so long. ^_^' But! Exams are past,  
summer is finally here, and sweet Lord have I been twisting myself into knots with ache to write! There's meant to be five chapters  
in this batch, but I felt I couldn't keep you waiting any longer... I will try to finish the remaining two later today. =)**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Shiro had felt the shirt glue to his back during the maths exam. The pen had been slippery in his fingers, and fine creeks of sweat had tickled his  
temples and stained the paper in the stifling summer heat: but oh how grateful he had been for having maths!

Being stiff and sore from exercise was nothing new to him – Gokuro-sensei had seen to that, as P.E. had moved into more combat-oriented fields – but  
this was on a whole different level. Yes, he could make his muscles perform beyond their limits; but like employees forced to work overtime, they made  
sure he felt their displeasure afterwards. It ached. It _creaked_. It felt like his joints were ball bearings full of gravel and his muscles sprinkled with  
splintered glass. But it also meant his body was adapting to the increased strain, and growing stronger.

Shiro didn't take one more step than necessary outside, clinging to the shade the buildings gave and-

"Smoking on Academy premises is still not permitted, Fujimoto-kun." Well well, if it wasn't the same hot prefect that had spotted him on the first day of  
this school year? "That's your third warning: you're going to the principal's office."

Shiro didn't bother checking his grin. He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets and the glowing tip of the cigarette lolling up and down between  
his teeth like a dog's tail. Going to the principal's office, eh?

"It's a week and a half 'til graduation: do you really think he'll bother kicking up a fuss about this in that time?"

"He will, if it's the school's most notorious pest", she snapped confidently – hmm~ he did like a girl with bite.

"The school's most gifted prodigy", Shiro corrected, earning a scornful snort from the prefect. "Tell you what – exam results are announced before  
graduation, yeah? My name will be in the top ten." And she would believe that when carrots grew out of her ears. "If it's not, you can report me to  
Me- Faust. And for good measure, since you look so cute when you're glowering at me, I'll even confess a few things I've done that haven't been put  
on record." She was doubtful, but listening. Excellent. "That I promise", he added, taking the cigarette butt from his lips. "But _if _I'm in the top five…"  
He dropped the smoke and ground it out under his shoe, leaning forward with his best rascal-smile as he did. "…you give me a kiss."

"You're shameless!"

"You're pretty."

She was. Blushing and glaring at the same time – such a cute little thing~ And she did, in the end, accept the bet.

* * *

Come afternoon, Shiro had meticulously eliminated all wonky hair-tufts from his cut, shaved off what little facial hair he had, and silently cursed the  
universe for the red zit that had sprouted above his eyebrow. That last thing aside, he looked fresh and ready for going to the crafts market with his  
friends; and with certain friends' cute sisters.

The universe doesn't normally take offense when humans across the globe blame it for various misfortunes; sometimes, however, it does. When Shiro  
left the dorm building, the universe had knitted its eyebrows into a sinister black palisade of thunderclouds and glared balefully at him, and the swallows  
skirted low in the billowing air over the Academy's sun-heated rooftops. The universe got its message through rather clearly, and he doubled back and  
fetched a free-to-use umbrella from the holder in the dorm hall.

Weather didn't bother Shiro. When other children at the orphanage had sat indoors, reading or playing board games in the blinking light of faltering light  
bulbs, eleven year-old Shiro Fujimoto slunk out the window – the doors were always locked when there was no one to supervise outdoor activities, he  
recalled – to stand in the hammering rain and feel the force of nature churn his blood. The iron-fenced yard was different when storm came: even dull,  
confining orphanage grounds could gain a vicious beauty, when nature crushed the manmade illusion that it could be controlled. Light drops drew frothing  
breaths of steam from the sun-warmed pavement; heavy drops whipped the ground into a hissing cauldron, and the sky lowered itself down onto the  
rooftops, so close he could almost touch it…

"_And the thunder…_" A nostalgic smile ghosted his lips.

Some children curl up under their bedcovers when thunder rolls across the sky; others want to stand in the midst of it, and feel the booming waves  
streak their skin with goose-bumps. Then rain had washed down the collar of his shirt and licked it stuck against his skin, and he'd laughed… glowing,  
like the fog-wrapped cracks of lightning above…

The orphanage staff soon learnt where to look when he went missing. It was always Shiho-sama who came running out under a yellow umbrella, grabbed  
his arm and marched him back in. She was left-handed; his cheekbone remembered, from all the times her wedding ring had struck when she slapped  
him for getting soaking wet in the rain. Or other inappropriate things he did: there were quite a few of those, after all.

Weather wasn't the problem, when he trotted down the walkway to pick up Sen and Midori at their dorm. There were other creatures than unruly little  
boys that stirred when the sun was swallowed by dark skies, and his leisurely day at the marked promised to be not as leisurely as he'd hoped.

* * *

Sen had embarked on an ambitious project to teach her girlfriend how to properly style hair, and had lent her long, raven black curtain to experimentation  
that seemed to involve all styles at once. More than one student they passed by looked the other way to hide their smiles, but Sen didn't seem to care at  
all; of course. She was far away from other humans. Far away from strong emotion that could tip the balance between her and her goblin familiar. Far  
away from caring.

"_And she's lived like this for years…?_" Shiro didn't know what to think of it. Was it tragic? Was it proof that it was possible to live half-alive? Should he  
grieve for her, or should he consider her an inspiration…?

"Do you think it will like it there?"

Shiro had just enough time to catch sight of the lizard's tail before it disappeared into the mess that was Sen's hair.

"I think it's a lovely home for a lizard", he chuckled with a smile.

Sen responded with one of her distant smiles, and Shiro hoped to high heavens that his own hadn't looked like that. Her smile had always made his  
skin crawl, but he'd never before been able to pinpoint why. It was the smile of one who knows what a smile looks like, but hasn't smiled a true, heartfelt  
smile in years.

Midori, who was the expert provider of lizards, cast one glance at him, one glance at Sen's hair, and returned her golden eyes to him with her eyebrows  
crinkled together and lips pursed in an offended pout.

"What? I'm not saying anything mean about it", he pointed out with a shallow grin as they strolled down the stairs from the academy campus.

"Mouth is quiet, but face is loud."

Midori preferred walking on the low stone banister, jumping over every knob and pouncing on the small lizards that skittered into cracks and joints. She  
didn't bother at all that the saffron-yellow yukata she wore wasn't intended for that kind of movement – but, on the other hand, it didn't bother Shiro  
either. She had such nice legs…

"Sorry, I didn't catch that", he said, snapping out of his daydreams with a sheepish look.

"Your face speaks very loud, little ero-kun", she tittered like raindrops on leaf gold. "So loud you hear nothing else, hm~? I said I think Sen looks cute in  
that."

"I think she looks like a fashionable broomstick in that."

To that, Midori slapped him over the head and shot him a reproachful glare, marred only by the laughter that tugged the corners of her lips.

"_You_ were raised in woods, not me."

"You will never get a girl by being honest, Shiro-kun", said Sen with that smile that made him cringe inside.

"Too bad, he likes girls so much~" When the stairs left them on the road to Mepphy Land, Midori jumped down next to them. "Shouldn't Shiro have a  
girl for market day, hm~?" she chirped, and telepathically conveyed a devious plan to Sen through a single, sparkling glance. "Or maybe two…?"

"Two is a good number", Sen agreed, and hooked her arm into Shiro's. "Two is for balance in duality."

"And two is amount of arms", Midori fell in, swiftly yanked the umbrella out of his grip and replaced it with her arm.

"Number of arms", Sen corrected at his other side.

"Number and amount; is both not for how many there are of things?"

"Just what are you two up to…?" Shiro definitely didn't mind strolling through town with one girl on each arm, but when said girls were plotting  
together any man would do well to be wary.

"We make sure you have a girl to go to the market with", said the little fashionable broomstick with a dead smile and eyes that twinkled in a way  
oddly reminiscent of Mephisto's.

"I'm quite sure I would've managed that myself", he replied with raised eyebrows.

"No you wouldn't~"

"Not when you have two already."

For then all _available _girls would think he-

"That isn't fair", he complained.

"But you enjoy it, ero-kun~"

"I can at least enjoy people's jealous glares", he observed, craning his neck to see the throng that milled at the brightly coloured entrance to Mepphy Land.  
"Speaking of that: would you care to ensure that I have a girl or two to celebrate my graduation? This old man's on his final school year, after all."

Sadly, no. Sen's father celebrated his sixtieth anniversary, and both she and Midori would attend. Getting to and from the Futotsuki village was a  
bothersome business: they had to leave immediately after their last exam to arrive on time, and they had planned to remain there over summer.

* * *

**A/N: Reply to UmbrellaBat: **Hi there! I'm so happy to hear that I… ruined your studies… x'3 Every author likes feedback, even more so when it's so  
overwhelmingly kind. QwQ Thank you! Since you don't have an account I can PM, I'll answer your question here.

**It's inconvenient, in a way, that you bring up that particular conversation. x') The vague phrasings throughout the dialogue in ch 39 are,  
in my opinion, deliberate and there to confuse. I tried to sort it out, but I can't say that I know for sure how it should be read. ^_^'**

**I find it hard, many times, to bring my ideas of the underlying structure of AnE into writing that is comprehensible to others. I've organised  
it as best I could in a fairly linear way, but I'm not sure I'm getting my thoughts through. ^_^'**

**So this was my line of thought behind the interpretation…**

**I don't trust Samael. **^_^' Pure survival instinct, probably. He's the kind of character that forces a reader to adopt the world-view of a conspiracy theorist.  
1. What you're being told serves a hidden agenda, and what you're _not_ being told are the things that you really ought to pay attention to.  
2. Whenever you encounter strange phrasing of words, you can assume it's done to conceal something (and from there, the first imperative applies).

**Samael has a habit of telling parts of the truth only**, namely the parts that will make people do what he wants them to do. In ch 39 he wants to  
motivate Rin to work harder, and to that end he shows him how much he has left to learn before he can stand a chance against Satan. Rin gets the  
whole tour, with a practical demonstration of the kings' powers and a run-down of Gehenna's hierarchical structure. The part of the truth that Samael  
_doesn't_ tell him is that the kings are powerful because they are Satan's sons.  
**  
It's a logical move**, but it complicates things. It's logical to withhold that part of the truth, because if Rin learnt that Samael is also Satan's son he  
might become (even more) suspicious of him – and Samael, well; he wants a weapon aimed at his father, not at himself. It complicates things, because  
that means Samael wants to hide the fact that the kings and Satan are connected, and will lay his words so that they seem to be two separate groups  
of demons with no relation to each other: as he does in ch 39. And that's where I began to develop a headache… =.='  
**  
Whenever you encounter strange phrasing** of words, you can assume it's done to conceal something. In ch 39 we're given three terms to complete  
the chaos: _Gehenna's hierarchy_, _royal family of demons_, and _Gehenna's men of power_. That, to me, looks very odd. =/ There's no reason to confuse Rin  
with three ambiguous terms, unless confusion is the very purpose.  
**  
The central question** you posed is if those three mean the same thing, and the answer is that I'm not sure they do. We're _made to think_ that they do,  
but that's probably Samael's/Kato's intention; and I can say, in vague words so as not to spoil anything for you, that Kato has pulled some major ruses on  
her audience in AnE before. I do not put it past her to hide some crucial scrap of information under Samael's smooth tongue, but what that information  
might be I'm not qualified enough to decipher. I broke those three sentences down to the extent of my abilities, and better than that I cannot do… ^_^'

If Amaimon is "Gehenna's seventh man of power", and there are six kings above him and eight kings in total, it's safe to assume that "Gehenna's men of  
power"refers to the eight kings, Satan excluded.  
_**So that's one down.**_

However, Samael uses "the royal family of demons" interchangeably with "Gehenna's men of power" to speak of the kings only; and that… puts scowl  
lines between my eyebrows. Think about it. The royal family of demons, but the kings' father doesn't count? They wouldn't be brothers, and by extension  
wouldn't be family, if they didn't share the same blood through their father, no…? I would argue, unless demon genealogy follows some mighty strange  
rules, that Satan is indeed part of the royal family – but that's something Samael doesn't want Rin to know. =w=' And by stating that the kings are all  
there is to the royal family, he's effectively cutting off its blood ties to Satan.  
_**And there, we can't be certain anymore.**_

It seems to me like he's establishing "Gehenna's men of power" and "the royal family of demons" as apart from Satan, whether or not that is true in that  
last case. We're inevitably stuck in a loop of "is he lying for the benefit of his plans or is he telling us the truth – or parts of the truth?", and I'm afraid we're  
not getting any further there.**  
**  
"Gehenna's hierarchy" is slightly different from the other two, but in no way easier to pin a definite denotation on. It has no immediate context, as the  
others have, so I resorted to analysing its constituents as best I could. "Gehenna's men of power" and "the royal family of demons" are both restrictive,  
singling out Gehenna's power-elite and its blue-blooded inhabitants respectively. "Gehenna's hierarchy", in a strictly linguistic sense, denotes the hierarchy  
in Gehenna as a whole. There's nothing in it to restrict it to any caste of demons specifically; but it could also be worth taking into consideration that  
there's nothing in it that could tie Satan to the kings in any other sense than that they all live in Gehenna. That means it should be a safe term for Samael  
to include Satan in, since it doesn't give away their family relation. Does he include Satan in it? "Det vete fan", as I'd say in Swedish. "Only the Devil  
would know." Kato is good at this, and this time around I'll admit she defeated me. x')  
**  
Analysis of language** yields uncertain results in this case, since I can't tell what the original phrasing looked like in Japanese. "Men of power" sounds to  
me like something that could denote a distinct concept that exists in Japanese but not in English, for example; some word relating to social hierarchy in  
ancient Japan, or such. A linguist's analysis doesn't necessarily reflect what the author's intentions were, either."Gehenna's hierarchy" I interpreted in a  
strictly linguistic sense, and TEotB utilises that hierarchy as the complete power structure involving every being in Gehenna, Satan included. If that is  
correct, Samael is the most powerful of the kings: if it turns out "Gehenna's hierarchy" only includes the eight kings, I'd place my bets on Azazel the King  
of Spirits as number one. (I'd also have to figure out how to work my way around that in the fic, which promises to be one huge bitch of a task. x') )  
**  
Just as a curious note** on the subject of translation, it's debatable whether "half demon" is the correct label for Rin's existence. People who know kanji  
better than I do have remarked that AnE doesn't use 半悪魔, whichwould bethe most straightforward way of saying "half demon", but the much longer  
and more ambiguous 本物の悪魔とのハーフ. This would be read literally as "half with a pure demon". I'll leave you to ponder the meanings of that; I've been  
wagging my figurative chin for far too long already…

**Pardon the lengthy line of thought. ^_^' It's a suggestion for an interpretation: it's not a claim to absolute truth. I'm happy to share  
(most of) the musings I build this fic on, but since they tend to look more like essays it's done on request only. x') I hope it made  
things clearer for you, UmbrellaBat: and if it didn't, throw a rock at me and I'll try to word it better.**

**/ Dimwit**


	83. 83: Catching up

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

The market completely ignored the impending downpour. Between the usual booths had cropped up a myriad of yatai and stands erected by artisans, and  
Shiro had a slight suspicion Mephisto might have had something to do with the flag posts that had magically appeared to enclose the market corridors in  
frames of cherry pink. An inviting smell of takoyaki, yakisoba and other fried foods hung in the air, weaving between excited children's shouts and adults  
discussing if it would be the _Hanshin Tigers_ battling _Hankyu Braves_ for the championship title this year, or if it would be _Yomiuri Giants_. Shizuku, Kasumi  
and Ryuuji all took part in the market, but had agreed to meet up with them for an afternoon snack and a stroll through the transformed amusement  
park. However, when they converged at the temporarily closed Go To Hell rollercoaster, only the Honda siblings were there.**  
**

Shizuku wore his pilgrim's clothing, which somehow made him look older, and beside the usual roll of tools he carried a cloth-bag of assorted wood pieces  
over one shoulder. Kasumi had opted for a pale yellow, criminally tight-fitted yukata that left little to imagination, and she had tied her hair into a traditional  
bun as opposed to her usual bushy tuft.

And despite Shiro's best efforts, he couldn't keep the sight of her from making his heart bubble like a teakettle in his chest.

"Well, well – seems like ye dressed up fer nothing, Kas-hrrk…!"

"I've been getting' more commissions than 'e has, an' he's a li'l cranky 'bout it", Kasumi explained, while her brother choked after having had his Adam's  
apple rapped with her fan. "Sellin' goods is easier if ye put goods on display, if ye know what I mean", she winked.

"Oh, I believe you", Shiro grinned, making now secret of his admiration for her… goods.

"Izza lowly trick", Shizuku croaked, rubbing his throat.

"If ya had the parts ta pull it off, ye'd do it too, Shizzy~" Then she heaved a sigh. "Though it worked betta' before I got the wards tattooed, I admit." She  
tugged at the folds of the garment: the ward on her chest showed clearly, and the ones on her lower arms peeked shyly out of the sleeves. "Anyways,  
Tanuki-boy's ova' there." She pointed her folded fan in the direction of the ball pool and the children's merry-go-rounds. "What's 'is name again…? I  
always fe'get."

"Ryuuji-san", Midori responded, which elicited an amused snort from the little pilgrim.

"Pff, 'e's no dragon, that one. I think I'll stick ta calling 'im Tanuki-boy. 'e got held up back there, talkin' ta some musicians that complimented 'is playin'. 'e  
said 'e'd come find us later, so I say we locate some nice grub while we wait." She cocked her head to the side and gave the trio a quizzical look. "An' I hate  
ta ruin the cosy threesome for ya, but that one with the glasses is a guy."

"Shush, I'd finally managed to fool them..."

* * *

Twice during their walk did Shiro sense the unfelt touch of demons prying for a way into his heart. He tried to keep up in the fast-paced verbal exchanges,  
tried to put on a smile that didn't look like Sen's, but staying vigilant kept him from putting any emotion into it. He was smack in the middle of a busy  
market, surrounded by his best friends, and yet… he was alone.

It shouldn't be so hard. There's bad days and good days, pebbles and puddles; he might not like being stiff and cold, but he had to put their safety in the  
first room. It shouldn't be so hard; but when you're alone in the winter cold, and you see others laughing and talking in the warmth on the other side of  
the window… then all you want is to be there with them.

Kasumi and Shizuku couldn't come to his graduation either: they were going to walk to their mother for the anniversary of their father's death.

"Your mother is not dead?" Midori asked, unhindered by the social graces the others had been brought up with. Somehow, she managed to walk arm in  
arm with Shiro while balancing the umbrella vertically on her forehead.

"No, not dead." Shizuku sighed with exasperation as yet another responsible mother guided her child over to the side that had less pierced delinquents  
on it. "When I said she doesn't walk the roads anymore, I meant it literally. She was crippled the day dad died, so she works at a handicraft centre down  
southwest now, roughly a week's walk from 'ere. Sorry ta say it, Shiro-san, but I think ye're gonna hav'ta rely on Tanuki-boy fe' company on ye' big day."

"We could always celebrate before we leave", Kasumi suggested, snatching the umbrella from Midori's forehead and sticking it under Shiro's chin with an  
impish smirk. "Shizzy tells me ye've got a free day Wednesday next week – an' since 'e's such a nice little brotha', 'e'll handle some o' my commissions if  
I ask 'im to."

She was… asking him out on a date? Shiro cast a glance at Shizuku to see if he'd heard it right, and was greeted with a face of _if ye don't get _that _hint  
ye're gonna live out ye' days in celibacy_.

"Sure thing", he smiled, grappling for a heart that skipped away over flower-strewn meadows and made rather embarrassing leaps and twists. "_Did I just  
imagine my heart as Mephisto's wastebin panda…?_" Well, it wasn't far from it. "Anything particular you had in mind?" Shit, that sounded suggestive.  
Hopefully she didn't catch that.

Oh, she did – but Kasumi just chortled merrily at him.

"Well, fer one I hear ye've been training fe' Pheles 'imself at swords. That's a skill I'd like ta see fe' me'self, so if ye're up to a sparring match or two…?"

Fighting on first date? That was a new one. On the other hand, he'd never dated a girl like Kasumi Honda.

"Fufufufu is good to test a male before mating~" Midori tittered, making Shiro blush violently and look at anything that wasn't Midori or Kasumi, or any  
other being within earshot. Talk about being raised in the woods…

"Well, I… don't think that's quite what I meant, Midori-san", Kasumi added with an awkward chuckle in her throat.

"Mh, because you don't have noses." She shot them that smile that knew everything they didn't, and Shiro wished he could disappear on the spot. "Smell  
doesn't lie."

"And if I light a cigarette?"

"They stink", Midori pouted.

"Midori-san, ye're the sweetest thing I know", Kasumi said, scratching Midori behind the ear. "But humans an' demons are a bit different, even if the smells  
say the same thing."

* * *

Sen and Midori made it a sport to stay latched onto him, and when the Honda siblings went to select nikuman Shiro was dragged along to locate pork  
yakisoba. It required some coordination to weave their way forward, but when Midori caught the desired scent she could probably have dragged them  
there. Shiro narrowly swung their arm-to-arm chain out of the way for a little girl with an ice cream cone, and instead bumped into-

"…Shiro-san?"

"Yasuda-san…?"

Midori and Sen turned their eyes to the awkward silence that bloomed between the two graduates-to-be. Shiro hadn't spoken to Yasuda for… eight  
months. What do you say to a guy you haven't talked to for eight months?

"It's been a while." …yeah, that's one way to do it. "Sorry. I was an asshole last time."

"Yeah… you were." Yasuda still held his chopsticks halfway up to his mouth with yakisoba; never were good at multi-tasking, that one. His gaze darted  
back and forth from Shiro to the lady company, and he seemed to doubt if that choice of words was appropriate.

"How's Fuji-san?" Wonderful subject to bring up. Still, small talk was better than silence. "I haven't seen him in class for a while."

Yasuda had to run the question through his mind a second time, and lowered the chopsticks into the paper box in between.

"Fuji-san was taken out of school four months ago."

Shiro's turn to do a double take.

"What?" He'd thought Fuji was ill or something. How could he _not_ have noticed tha_-_ Four_ months…_? "You mean his dad _did_ cut the financial supply?"

"Mh", Yasuda confirmed. "Fuji-san simply stopped giving a damn, and you know what his dad was like: if the investment doesn't bring the money back in,  
pull the plug on it."

Yeah, he knew what Mr. Hirawara was like – except this was his _son_, not market shares.

"_And whose fault was it that Fuji stopped giving a damn…?_" One more person he should say sorry to, if he ever met him again.

"I see you're more successful than ever?"

Shiro snapped back to the conversation he didn't quite follow – although, it wasn't that hard to guess what he was referring to.

"Sadly, I'm just here for decoration. This is Sakura Midori", Shiro nodded his head to the right, "this is Futotsuki Sen", he nodded his head to the left. "And  
it's not me they're dating, but each other." And what a look Yasuda pulled, though he tried to hide it quickly. "This guy's Tanaka Yasuda, from my class."

"Will you eat that, or can I…?" Midori was casting longing glances at Yasuda's yakisoba, and Shiro remembered they hadn't actually bought any yet, even if  
they were right at the yatai.

"Midori-chan is a bit special", he explained. Then he recalled Sen's spectacular hairstyle: "And Sen-chan is special in her own way, so I suppose they fit well  
together. Look, we're just gonna buy some food, okay? You can get started on your own meanwhile", he said, unlatching himself from his escorts to bring  
out his wallet. Yasuda just nodded quietly in that manner that means he politely agreed that both Shiro and his new friends were a bit special.

It was awkward, but at least it seemed to be going in the right direction. Yasuda had always been a calm guy that didn't flare up halfway through an  
explanation, although… if that incident with the possession was anything to go by, that calm demeanour drifted on the surface of pent-up things of  
nastier nature. Shiro seemed to have gained a few centimetres on him, but Yasuda was still taller, and he'd lost some of the extra kilos. He looked more  
like a grown man than a teenager.

"So you're gonna go to the university in Tokyo?" Amazing, how much two people had to catch up on after eight months. "I never could've guessed. And  
_teacher_…?"

"Yeah", Yasuda smiled into his noodles. "I would've said 'they'll need new ones after you wore out the old', but that doesn't really apply anymore. You've  
been gnawing Minata-chan's heels at the top of the scoreboard the whole semester. What happened? What are you going to do after school, with those  
grades?"

Shiro's eyes briefly lingered on the coal tars that bobbed and danced in the steam above the yakisoba yatai. He swallowed a mouthful of beef and said  
what he hadn't been allowed to say eight months ago:

"I'll study to become an exorcist."

"Exorcist?" his classmate repeated, looking at him like he'd done in the old days when Shiro had suggested some unusually outrageous plan to get into  
the girls' bathroom. "Did somebody finally hit you hard in the head?"

"Just a matter o' time, innit?" Kasumi replied cheerfully, hooking Shiro's umbrella into his shirt collar as she appeared out of nowhere, two paper bags of  
nikuman in her hand. "Been lookin' high an' low fo' ya, Bigmouth. Greetins by the way: name's Honda Kasumi", she said, flashing a smile at Yasuda.  
"Now, what've ya done te ye' baby-sitters?"

"Midori-chan wanted to throw darts at balloons over there", he said, pointing his chopsticks in the right direction. "You should probably bring some sort of  
shield."

"I'll tell her you said that!" she said, waving over her shoulder.

Shiro smiled into his paper cup and scraped together the remaining noodles.

"So that's what it's called. 'Exorcist'."

That was a strange voice for Yasuda… Shiro looked up from his cup, food dangling halfway out of his mouth, and saw an equally strange look on his friend's  
face.

"I know we joked about it, but… Shiro-san, you really shouldn't do this." He was dead serious; Shiro just had no idea what he was serious about. "Especially  
with those grades, man: you could get in anywhere! You could go to Todai!" His voice sank cautiously. "Look, if it's the girl, Honda-chan…" Yasuda tossed  
a quick glance in the direction Kasumi had gone. "It's not worth it, Shiro-san. You might think it is now, but let me remind you that when you've got a  
girl on your mind you're about as intelligent as a pickled cucumber. She's trouble, and everyone connected to her is trouble, and you've seen enough  
trouble for a-"

"What did ye say about my sister?"

Shiro turned his head to see Shizuku tower behind him, black eyes fixed on Yasuda. The latter looked like he was about to heave all the food he'd just  
eaten back into the paper box.

"This is Yasuda-san, my classmate. He said I shouldn't hang with you, though I really can't tell why", Shiro summed up, increasingly puzzled by the  
situation.

"I didn't mean it", he said in a voice that seemed to be squeezed through a straw. Something was very off with him: even Shizuku noticed, and he had  
never even met the guy.

"Did 'e have bad pork with the yakisoba, or…?"

"No, he's been like that since Kasumi-chan passed by, and then you came and made it even worse. Oi, Yasuda-san, would you just say what's wrong  
instead of looking like you're about to drop down dead?"

"I… I apologise!" Yasuda appeared to simultaneously rise from the bench and bow. Deep. _Really _deep. "I didn't mean to offend anyone, it won't ever  
happen again!"

Shiro and Shizuku exchanged glances: nope, neither of them was any wiser.

"Come on, Yasuda-san", Shiro tried, tapping his friend's bowed back with his chopsticks. "Why are you so afraid of Shizu-san?" Yasuda mumbled some  
unheard reply. "Speak up, or I'll shove these up your nose."

"Because he's yakuza", he said miserably, still bowed past a ninety degree angle.

Silence.

Shizuku was the first one who put two and two together; and when he did, he doubled over deeper than Yasuda, slapping his leg and roaring with laughter.

"Oeh, dontcha geddit, Shiro-san?! Dontcha geddit?! Kasu-ahahahahahhaaaa Kas- Kasu's tattoos…! 'e thought she was with the bloody _yakuza  
_fuehehehehehehahahaaaa! An' my wards – 'e thought- 'e thought I was some _mob thug_ hahaahhahahahaaa!"

Oh, he could see it. Through invisible prison bars he could see the mix-up, see how hilarious it was and see Yasuda burst into red like a signal flare; and  
feel the demons that waited for him to let his guard down, hovering disembodied between colourful flag posts and tin cans waiting to be knocked down with  
rubber balls. It was getting darker, and the storm clouds hung lower. Shiro hid his face in his hand, not to cover the laughter but to keep them from seeing  
how artificial it was.

Yasuda could relax, at least. He was still red as a flare, but he laughed with Shizuku and apologised again; this time for mistaking him for a yakuza thug.  
Kasumi, who'd come back one nikuman-bag poorer, had a good laugh at it, too.

"I'm 'is classmate", Shizuku explained with a wide grin. "In cram school, that is."

"You're still in cram school? That's how you boosted your grades like this?"

"No, what he means is that we're in exorcist cram school together. Midori and Sen-chan too."

Yasuda gave him a puzzled look.

"I thought 'exorcist' was some mob term for a hitman, but then it's…?"

"An exorcist's an exorcist: demon pest-control." …no, Yasuda wouldn't believe that. Shiro wouldn't have, either. "Remember that time you collapsed,  
right before Fuji-san started acting tough? It felt like falling asleep, right? Or like something was making you fall asleep? It felt like you were being  
swallowed up by your darkest thoughts and buried alive under your worst nightmares, and the only way to escape it was to give in and sink down into  
unconsciousness." Shiro paused, looking straight at Yasuda's surprised face. Yes, it had been exactly like that. "That's what it feels like when a demon  
possesses you", he said, not knowing what inflection to put on those words. "You didn't remember anything afterwards, because the human soul sleeps  
while the demon controls the body." …no, he didn't want to mention Mephisto's part in it. "I was the one who exorcised it from you."

Yasuda chewed air, like a goldfish. A very shocked goldfish with a characteristic nick in one of its front teeth.

"But… why didn't you tell me?! And Fu- He wouldn't have blown his grades if you'd told him what happened! _None of this _would've happened if you'd just  
told us right from the beginning! What were you- Just what the hell, Shiro?!"

Yeah, there were many things that wouldn't have happened if he'd acted differently. Sometimes you make the right choice, sometimes the wrong one.  
That's the thing with Choice: it's only afterwards, when faced with the consequences, that you know which was which.

"I should've told you, I know. I just didn't." Back then, because he had to be discrete about going to cram school. "I'm sorry." Now, because his friends  
in cram school would wonder why he had had to be discrete and lie about it earlier.

Sometimes, there is no right choice.

"Sorry…?" It would've been easier if his voice hadn't been so soft. It would've been easier to be shouted at, beaten up, cursed to hell and back… but there  
was just Yasuda's soft voice, and brown eyes staring across the table at a stranger they once knew. "Why don't you go tell Fuji-san that?" With that, he  
rose, and walked away.

As if on cue, the first crack of thunder reverberated in the sky.

* * *

The rain gushed down like a waterfall, the way it does when it has been waiting all day to make that perfect entrance. It was rain that sounded like a  
passing freight train when it hammered on signs, roofs and asphalt, and forced people to crowd under the stands where the tarpaulin extended to form a  
cover. The four of them half walked, half jogged through the grey downpour; Sen and Midori under an umbrella summoned by fox magic, Shizuku under  
a rice hat, and Kasumi… slipped her arm into Shiro's and sheltered under his school umbrella.

"Ye've been lacking ye' usual spunk teday", she said, trying to sound casual about it. "Anything bothering ya…?"

"He's shielding his heart from demons. But he isn't used to it yet."

Shiro stared at Sen. The little broomstick merely smiled her dead smile back at him.

"I dunno if I'm followin'", Kasumi said, skipping over a large puddle that Shiro was too distracted to notice. "I knew ye're workin' ta keep demons off yer  
back by mind-power, but-"

"Demons possess the darkness in the human heart", Sen explained, "and the human heart opens to strong emotion."

"_Except mine seems to be a round-the-clock service desk._"

"It takes a while to get used to", the Futotsuki continued, twirling Midori's long hair-tail between her fingers, "but if you want, you can come with us to  
our village over summer. We can teach you meditation techniques and how to focus better."

"That's a great offer," one he would've loved to take her up on, "but I will be working at the Academy over summer. Janitor jobs and such." The scholarship  
covered school fees all and well, but he needed the extra money for food and other expenses. "I would've loved to come, otherwise."

The conversation lulled to nothing but the splatter of feet on wet ground, and the rumbling of heavy rain and thunder. Nobody said aloud what they all  
knew: demons possess people with wicked hearts.

They were halted by a shout at the entrance gates of Mepphy Land. Turning around, they spotted… two dwarves running with a tent…?

"Hey! Hey, wait for me!" The voice was Ryuuji's, though. And the weird bulges under the rain poncho were his music instruments. "Sorry, I- haah haah I  
lost track of time… talking…" he panted, slightly flushed in the face but glowing with pride like a pregnant woman; pregnant with triplets at the very least.  
"They invited me to join their summer tour, starting next week! And we'll be playing one concert with _Yamamoto H__ō__zan_!"

The change of subject was welcome. The way back to shelter was spent talking about different things they would do or hoped to do over summer. Shiro  
didn't say it aloud… but he had hoped he would have at least one person congratulating him on his graduation.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Yatai** – mobile food stand

**Ryuji/Ryuuji** – various kanji can go into that, but _ryu_ retains the meaning "dragon".  
**  
Tattoos** – are closely associated with criminality in Japan, as I'm sure you know. It just recently occurred to me what Kasumi and Shizuku must look like  
to ordinary Japanese: one with tattoos and one with piercings all over his face. ^_^' Yasuda joked with Shiro in the first chapter that he would do fine in  
the yakuza, so I thought I'd take him up on that now that they briefly talked again.  
**  
Yamamoto H**ō**zan** – is something as curious as a Living National Treasure of Japan. He's an extremely talented player of shakuhachi (traditional flute)  
and a big name in traditional music.


	84. 84: Unpleasant surprises

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

He was, he would admit, a bit nervous about Tamer exams; which was the worst exam to be nervous about. At least for the practical part, for which he  
was to summon a familiar and pitch it against another Tamer's familiar.

There are two kinds of summoning: the instinctive, and the pre-established. Instinctive summoning was what they had done their first Tamer class, when  
each had been asked to say whatever words came to mind. Pre-established summoning was done with words that, like a baking recipe, had been determined  
to always call forth one specific kind of demon. Instinctive summoning was special in the sense that it relied entirely on the summoner's mind, heart, and  
character, rather than the words themselves: as Futotsuki-sensei had put it that very day, a familiar summoned through instinctive summoning mirrored  
the summoner.

It had come as no surprise, but nonetheless… it was a hard blow when Shiro had discovered that no shahrokh would come if he tried to summon it like  
before.

"_I hope Futotsuki-sensei doesn't think it's strange that my familiar has changed_", he thought as he stepped into the circle of wards that had been painted  
into the grass. This was the only exam held outdoors, on a secluded baseball court that was part of the Academy.

"Esquire Fujimoto Shiro, are you set?" Futotsuki-sensei's rich voice carried with surprising strength, even if he wasn't using a megaphone.

"Set", he confirmed.

"Junior First class Tamer Yoshitaka Daisuke, are you set?"

"Yes", a small guy answered from the other side of the circle. "And good luck!"

Yoshitaka Daisuke…? Oh, right: the fidgety guy that had been part of the search team that went into Mephisto's labyrinth when Shiro's cram school key  
had been lo- had been stolen.

"Good luck!" Shiro returned, and steadied the tablet with paper on against his hip. In the field they'd carry pre-drawn summoning circles, but on exams  
they were tested so that they could draw their own ones in case of emergency.

"You may now begin the examination!"

"Child of Kadru, and daughter of eight kings…" Daisuke began.

"I call you forth to tell the just from the corrupted, to judge and exact judgment; to hunt the guilty down from the domes of the sky to the pits of the  
underworld", Shiro commanded, taking a firm hold of himself for what was to come.

First time he had summoned it, he had been forced to tear the paper almost immediately. He hadn't expected his control to falter; but he hadn't expected  
that familiar, either, and so had been caught completely off guard. Still, he had summoned it again… and again… until he had become cold enough to hear  
that unholy bay without surrendering to the paralysing fear that came with it.

"Your opponent is that naga." His voice rung hollow and slightly shaky in the arena, where all living sound had fallen silent before the smell of burnt  
brimstone. "Defeat it, but don't kill it."

Eyes the colour of boiling blood deigned him a glare over the demon's massive shoulder blade, and a snort that brought a gush of sparks from its nostrils.  
It detested him, he'd known that right from the start. He wasn't worthy to command such a creature.

"_But command I will._" Shiro met its eyes firmly, unwaveringly… "_I've stared down the King of Time, you mutt._" …and when it knew he wasn't going to falter,  
it turned its large head towards the hissing naga and stalked slowly closer, each step leaving behind the singed mark of a huge paw in the grass.

All cultures knew of them, in one form or another; all cultures feared them, for the work they carried out.

"_You didn't come to be commanded by me_", he thought grimly, watching the red ears streak backwards against the white, bristling fur as the naga reared  
its head up to strike his familiar. "_You came to exact judgment._" The hound skipped aside, light as a feather despite its size, and bit straight through the  
scale panzer behind the snake's head. "_On me._"

On the soul of a sinner. They had been called many things, but their purpose and task was the same. They were the finest hunting dogs in this world and  
all others, heralds of death that never slowed until they had chased their corrupted prey into the ground; so the coon annun had earned the name most  
people knew them by.

Hellhounds.

* * *

The practical Tamer exam was not a matter of whose familiar won and whose lost, but of what kind of familiars the students could summon, and how well  
they made use of their abilities. Nagas were excellent demons for offensive operations: fast, and venomous. Not very mobile, though. And not very good at  
endurance.

"Make it move around", he murmured, sure that his familiar would hear him but not Daisuke. "Wear it out."

The coon annun could run from the dawn of creation to judgment day, mythology had it. Whether that was true or not, they could run swift and far  
without tiring, and they had the strength to deal with any obstacle standing between them and their prey. The bite of a coon annun is venomous,  
though Shiro had little knowledge if that venom had the same effect on other demons as it had on humans.

The hellhound wasn't doing too well against the snake. Daisuke had made it curl up to minimize the target, and rather than biting it was slamming its tail  
at the attacker, keeping its bleeding head safe from further injury. The coon annun was too fast to get hit, but it wasn't making the naga any more tired  
either. Stalemate.

Shiro chewed the tip of his tongue, thinking. Stalemate didn't look good on protocol. Tamers were awarded for creativity and strategy in using their  
familiars, and turning the tables on a situation like this was precisely the kind of thing that gave extra points. The coon annun did have a howl that would  
make any living thing, human or demon, freeze in terror and be for a moment left open for assault; but he hadn't expected to face a familiar that couldn't  
bloody _hear_…

He knew one thing that he _could _do…

"_There is an important distinction to be made between _could _and _should." Mephisto was right in that statement, strategist as he was… and strategy  
was what the situation called for. Not from him, but from his familiar. "_No winning without gambling, no gambling without risk._" Shiro re-opened the cut  
in his hand for a second summon. "_And coon annun hunt in packs._"

Often, you would hear Arias say they had the most dangerous position in a team of exorcists; directly targeted by demons, and having to remain calm  
and remember hundreds of memorized chants flawlessly under stress fighter pilots didn't even come close to. The Arias that also held Meisters as Tamers  
huffed at such words. Drawing a correct circle to summon a demon required as much memorizing as chanting did, but summoning…

Summoning required you to create your own miniature gate to Gehenna through blood and will, and drag a demon through it. A Tamer used his own mind  
and body to bridge across two dimensions, and subdue a spirit that would rip his throat out if given half a chance: that was no fucking slacker job. The strain  
from summoning two strong demons made Shiro's head throb painfully. He knew he could do it, he'd done it a couple of times while he practiced on his  
own… but he had never kept two demons bound to himself for long.

The naga was having a hard time of it, unsuccessfully trying to keep the blurry white-and-red cannonballs at bay. The coon annun moved like two bodies  
sharing one mind, biting and pestering the poor creature until it ignored Daisuke's commands and mindlessly tossed itself at them in an attempt to fend  
for itself.

"Exam is over!" Futotsuki-sensei declared from the sidelines. "Tear your summoning circles!" All three summons disappeared in clouds of smoke, and  
Shiro breathed a sigh of relief. "You did well, both of you. You are free to go, and please see the nurse if you feel ill or fatigued from this exam."

Shiro allowed himself a glance at Futotsuki-sensei, and at the other teachers assembled. If they were surprised by his change of familiar, they made a  
good job of hiding it.

* * *

He probably passed Tamer. There was still the theoretical exam of drawing wards and summoning circles, but Shiro wasn't worried about that. It may  
have been that large parts of his brain had been empty and unused before, but once he'd started filling it with information he had been surprised to  
discover how much he could fit in there. Chants, seals, potion recipes, properties of the different demon species… He had known he was smart – fairly  
smart, at least – but he'd had no idea how smart he was until he'd made an effort to learn things. Until there had been things that were interesting  
to learn.

…speaking of smart.

Shiro had taken the long way back to the dorm area from the baseball court, to enjoy the weather, and spotted another smart dick marching straight-backed  
for the dorms. All alone. With all other kids on lunch break.

"Oi, Kita." If he wanted that honorific attached back to his name, he had better explain to Shiro why there had been a baryon in his sword on Knight exam.  
"I've been looking for you." Shiro drew a last breath on his cigarette before tossing it on the walkway and stomping it out as he went.

"And why is that?" Didn't betray a thing, the little rat. He waited, arms crossed in the shadow of one of the Academy's buildings, and looked both bored  
and annoyed at having to deal with this nuisance of a classmate.

"I just wanted to say thank you, for being so kind and wishing me luck on Knight exam." Now that he came into the shadow too, he could open his  
eyes properly. Was that a tiny hint of tension in Kita's thin shoulders…? "And tell you to quit fucking around with my business. Fine if you don't like  
me – I don't give a rat's ass about you, either – but I'm not childish enough to screw up somebody's exam for that."

A superior sneer crept up on Kita's lips. He couldn't have been more than a few centimetres taller than Shiro, but hell was he making those centimeters  
count right now.

"You flatter yourself too much, Fujimoto", he snorted amusedly. "Why would I care about your exam results?"

"I know no one who would care more", Shiro returned with silken sweetness. "It's gotta sting pretty bad to have your fancy name beaten by a nobody  
without exorcist connections, I'm guessing? Bad enough to put a baryon in my sword for the examination."

People get a certain look when something dawns on them. It's built into the expression, really: the bright light of a rising sun becomes for a moment  
physically visible in their eyes. And that was the spark that flickered in Kita's.

"What?" It irked Shiro that Kita seemed to have realised something that had completely passed him by. Irked him, and made the seed of suspicion sprout  
in his mind.

But the lanky Yaonaru merely reverted to his usual dickish attitude, and dismissed him with a chuckle not of the friendly kind.

"Nothing. You know nothing", he said, turning on his heel to leave.

That, was not happening.

In a split second Shiro had him by his shirt collar and shoved his back against the wall, hard enough for Kita to bump his head on the stone and grimace  
in pain.

"I'll repeat myself: I don't give a rat's ass about you, or about how many teeth you have to sneer at me with", he said with steel-barbed softness. "I'm  
gonna ask nicely first, and then it's up to you whether I have to ask again. If you weren't trying to screw my exam because of competition, why did you  
do it?"

Kita wasn't a fighter, that he'd known from the beginning. But he wasn't meek. He was better than others; that he'd been taught since he learnt to  
walk, probably, and that solid conviction forbade him to let a lowlife like Shiro dent his pride.

"Let go of me, you filth", he hissed.

"_It's a bad move to think I won't go through with my threats._" He slowly contracted the muscles in his arms, adjusting them to Kita's weight, and pushed  
the wide-eyed teenager up the wall until his feet dangled a good decimeter above ground. "How about we try again? Why did you sabotage my exam if it  
wasn't to disable competition?"

"You may be an imbecile, but I'm not", he snorted, defiant despite the trembling in the hands that clung to Shiro's arms for support. "I was shown the list  
of admissions to cram school before classes began last year. There was no Fujimoto Shiro on it. You were enrolled afterwards, handpicked by Sir Pheles.  
Why do you think he did that?"

"_I know why he did that, better than you do_", he thought, but let none of it show on his face.

"Oh, what a good pawn you are; not a brain cell to think with in that thick head", Kita derided, trying to pry Shiro's hands off his shirt. Shiro didn't let  
him. Kita knew far more than he had expected, and he wasn't going to let him off the hook before he found out just how much. "At least _try_ to think,  
Shiro. Since Sir Pheles established his presence in Japan, sixty eight percent of the nation's artefacts and demonic relics have been relocated to Deep  
Keep: a high-security vault that can only be accessed through the use of magical keys, which are controlled by Sir Pheles. Seventy two percent of all  
exorcists in Japan operate under orders from the Order of the True Cross, whose Japanese branch is under the command of Sir Pheles." Kita made another  
attempt to pry off Shiro's hand, to no avail. "Japan is being disarmed and dismantled bit by bit, all power to combat demons centred to a demon  
that can deprive us of our weapon's arsenal with a snap of his fingers."

"_The Yaonaru won't store their artefact in Deep Keep, not 'cause it's guarded by the Todos but because Mephisto…_" Pieces fell in place, beautifully so. "_He's  
tying all power to himself, and Kita thinks that's why I-_"

"He gathers both artefacts and exorcists", his captive continued, somehow maintaining his superior sneer even if he was the one at a disadvantage. "And  
he handpicked you to become an exorcist. I don't know why, and apparently neither do you." Oh, Shiro knew. And while Kita was wrong about why  
Mephisto had enrolled him in cram school, the nosy little brat had made some good points. "I couldn't care less about you and your grades, but you  
might want to take a step back and think – if that's possible – of why Sir Pheles is so eager to add you to his collection." The haughty look grew  
haughtier. "Because trust me, it's not because you are his 'friend'."

There were a billion questions, milling around on Shiro's tongue like ants. A billion questions Kita wouldn't answer – many of which he _couldn't _answer,  
simply because all of them concerned the most secretive player on the game board.

And when you don't know what to ask… make people talk instead.

"That's the worst crap I've heard." Playing dumb with someone who already despised you for being dumb wasn't the most flattering thing one could do,  
but sometimes the results were well worth the humiliation. "And you expect me to believe that?"

Kita's face displayed an infuriating blend of annoyance, arrogance, resignation, and pity for the hopelessly stupid.

"The Yaonarus have been exorcists for as long as anyone can remember, with more knowledge of exorcism than any other family. We served the Tokugawa  
shoguns during the Edo period; we served Tokugawa Iesada when Sir Pheles came to Japan. He came as an emissary from the Order, offering to tie bonds  
with native exorcism traditions by building a school where the best from both practices would be taught." Kita made an effort to find footing on the wall  
behind, to alleviate his faltering grip on Shiro's hands. "And he wanted to build it where Assiah and Gehenna tangent", he spat. "That's where we are:  
at the thinnest nexus of the dimensional barrier. Do you think he chose this location on a whim? Do you think he came to Japan on a whim? That he  
enrolled you in cram school on a whim?" A cynical snicker breathed air against Shiro's whitened knuckles. "If so, you truly are an imbecile."

…and here he'd thought Kita was just a snotty shithead. The guy _knew _stuff. Stuff that justified every animosity he held against Mephisto – and against  
Shiro, who certainly must've looked like an ignorant pawn in the demon's game.

"…how can this place be the thinnest nexus? Why?"

"Why don't you ask your 'friend'?" Kita retorted.

Shiro wasn't pissed anymore. It was hard to say what he was; he had been given too much to ponder to bother being angry with Kita. Slowly, he let  
the flustered teenager down.

"You could have told me this before." Pff, indeed: too much to ponder to think before he spoke. Kita wouldn't have told someone who was in alliance  
with Mephisto; someone who was _duped_ by Mephisto, now that was a different matter. "_And my greatest talent seems to be looking stupid…_"

"You should consider your priorities, Fujimoto", he said curtly, straightening his collar and paying absolutely no mind to Shiro's statement. "Perhaps it would  
be for the best if you resigned from exorcist education?"

Without another word, without another glance, the Yaounaru turned on his heel and walked off, leaving Shiro with renewed doubts.

Mephisto liked humans, and he wanted Assiah safe – but what the hell was he planning to do, with all those artefacts buried under the thinnest part of  
the dimensional barrier…?

* * *

**A/N:**

**Coon annun** – meh, my computer doesn't do Welsh. ^_^' The proper name is Cŵn Annwn, but that circumflex wouldn't sit atop a w, so I'll be transcribing  
it "as it sounds" for my own convenience. The coon annun are the Welsh version of the often heard-of hellhounds, and their specific variation of the legend  
is a big white hound with red ears. It's supernaturally strong and fast, to hunt down wretched souls for punishment, and an omen of death with bite that  
kills. There's plenty of similar myths in other places, so I took the liberty of mixing in a few of their traits for a more solid picture: the red eyes, the smell  
of burning brimstone, the burn marks from its paws, etc.

**Kadru **– is in Hinduism the mother of snakes. There's mention of a couple of snake kings there that also feature in the Japanese legends of eight great  
snake kings.

**Summoning? **– no, don't listen to me, I'm just having fun with it… =P I don't know how Kato explains the mechanics of that, but to me that's what it  
looks like in the manga.

**Dimensional barrier** - it's only been used in the anime; the weakest point in the barrier, where Gehenna and Assiah almost touch. There was no way  
Mephisto didn't build his Academy there on purpose. =/ He bends time and space dimensions constantly; I'm sure he could smell that spot like a  
bloodhound smells game.  
**  
Timeline recap **– I've pretended that Mephisto arrived in Japan 1854 (see ch 29). That was the year Japan agreed to open up ports for foreign ships.  
This marked the start of international interaction with Japan after its many years of self-isolation, and also led to the downfall of the shogunate  
in 1868.


	85. 85: Mind-blowing payback

**A/N:**

**For **_**Zeitdieb: **_**some shameless flirting with **_**Puppeteer**_**. ;3**

**The rating for this chapter is M****, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in between. I hope you take note of that, or you might end up  
reading something you don't want to read.**

**…actually, you might not want to read at all, since I'm not very good at this. ^_^'**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

"_Where is he?_"

Shiro knew Faust Mansion was large, and it never looked the same… but as he passed stranger and stranger rooms, he was starting to think it might  
even _grow _additional spaces, too. He didn't remember a room full of grandfather clocks, though he would admit someone who rules time could have  
something like that: but how did you tell time from clock faces that were numbered up to 25? And a replica of the Sistine Chapel, what use did a demon  
have for that…?

Shiro did stop to look at that last one, though. They hadn't had the time to see the Sistine Chapel on their sojourn to Rome, but it sure was…

"_Crumbling_", he thought as his eyes roamed the walls with their fractured plaster and fading colours. "_No matter how great mankind's achievements, it's  
all-_" How had Mephisto put it…? "_Frail, fluttering instants in time._"

Near the centre of the ceiling was a painting he recognised, elevated into his awareness on the pedestal of fame: _the Creation of Adam_. Shiro knew  
nothing of art per se – if anything, he found it surprising how very different humans looked in Western art compared to Japanese tradition – but even  
he had to admit that that painting had "something". Something in that short, short distance between God's finger and Adam's; something that was  
invisible, intangible, yet held the mystery of life itself. The divine spark.

"The one you couldn't return to a dead body", he murmured to the hushing arcs, gaze lingering on the two hands that had reached out for hundreds  
of years without ever touching.

Hundreds of years… Hundreds of years ago the laboratory in Wawel Castle's tower had been built, to house the experiments Mephisto had conducted  
in his attempts to bridge that narrow gap between two fingers. That narrow gap, so simple yet so far beyond the grasp of a human mind; all of life, all  
of creation, all that unimaginable _power_,compressed and crackling in those few centimetres of nothingness…

"_…and jilt the Devil that would do the work of God._" It was probably a good thing that Mephisto hadn't succeeded."_You've got enough toys as it is_",  
he concluded, lowering his eyes and thoughts from the ceiling."_Just where are you, you old goat…?_"

Shiro's pace grew more and more impatient. He should be able to dowse for Mephisto's presence; but, like the rooms of the mansion, it seemed to  
constantly change location. Really, he could understand Belial's frustration. Working in a place like this must be-

The moment he saw it, he knew it was the right way. The corridor dug straight into the wall, and there was nothing in it save two doors at the far end.  
Shiro had to look at it twice before concluding it was some sort of spatial trick of Mephisto's: the pink-and-cream striped walls ran parallel, but the corridor  
was impossibly narrow for those doors to stand side by side. Or gateways, rather: there were no doors in the arced frames, only darkness so deep it  
seemed to have mass and texture and-

"_Life_", he thought as he approached them. There were many strange and otherworldly things in Faust Mansion, but these…

The left arc was assembled in sections that hid their joints in fine carving; a grand, ivory masterpiece of workmanship. The right one was grizzled,  
from pale white to the dark blue of storm clouds, but looked the same as the other apart from that.

They were just the kind of fancy things Mephisto would own – and far too solemn to be part of his collections.

"_As is the Sistine Chapel_", Shiro concluded with a shrug, and strode ahead through the right gate.

"The library?" How disappointing. "I must've walked halfway through True Cross Town and more, and I find you in the library."

"The _great_ library", corrected a nit-picky voice from a heavy, deep red armchair by the unlit hearth. "The one where books can be enjoyed without  
disturbance from ill-mannered apes."

True, Mephisto kept his manga and his bound books separate; and the great library… was the kind of library you own if you've been collecting works  
since there were written works to collect. The dry smell of papyrus, paper and vellum rested on shelves that expanded in semi-circles out from the  
carved hearth, like ripples on water. From floor to ceiling they stretched, as if they had kept growing as trees even after the wood was hewn; a forest  
of curved pillars, branching at the top into a canopy of arcs that supported the ceiling. If Mephisto ever auctioned out that collection, he could probably  
increase his fortune threefold.

Shiro crossed his arms and rested them on the back of the velvet armchair, smirking down at the demon that occupied it.

"Still mad that I played you~?"

"Not at all."

"Of course not", he grinned. "What's the occasion? I know you don't like that suit."

Mephisto never wore formal clothes in his own home, let alone that black suit he'd been forced to put on after he lost their bet.

"You tell me", he replied curtly, causing Shiro to knit his brow in confusion.

"Just so you know, I don't follow one bit."

"You came 'halfway through True Cross Town and more', you said." Mephisto closed the book with a sonorous thud, but made no move to meet Shiro's  
eyes. "I doubt you made that effort to ask about my attire."

"_Oooh, the princess is in a foul mood today~_" Which was both entertaining and troublesome. "I got a few words out of Kita-san about that artefact  
that's causing his family so much trouble. Seems your academy is built atop some sort of dimensional hotspot. I'm assuming you're aware of that…?"

"Of course I am."

…

…and that, apparently, was the extent of what he intended to say on the subject.

"Not at all mad that I played you, hm?" he teased, twirling Mephisto's hair curl around his finger and tugging it lightly. "I thought it was just pig-headed  
rivalry when Kita-san tried to make me flunk Knight exam, but I don't think that's all there is to it. He's after me because of my connection to you; not  
to the title and influence you've got, but to _you_. And there's got to be a reason he doesn't want you to have that artefact." A reason why Mephisto was  
gathering so many artefacts in Deep Keep.

The curl slipped his grip when the demon unfolded himself out of the chair like some slim, black lily rapidly springing into bloom.

"I am aware of the Yaonarus' resent, what they shelter, and why." He didn't honour him with a single glance; just laid the book down on the marquetry  
table by the heavy divan, and summoned an ornate carafe to pour him a glass of white wine. "Neither is anything you need concern yourself with."

Being rude is easy; anyone can do that. But to be that flippantly condescending was a finer nuance of rude, and fine nuances require skill. Mephisto's  
whole posture radiated superiority, right in his face, and made Shiro itch to take up the fight and bite back. However, that wasn't going to get him anywhere.  
You have to stroke the dog along the grain: the piqued princess would keep up his diva attitude until sufficient amends were made to appease his pride.  
Shiro rounded the armchair with a sigh and approached; still thoroughly, expertly ignored.

"I don't suppose a 'sorry' s'gonna cut it…?"

"Word is repaid with word, action with action", he declaimed, sipping his wine and not even _looking _at him.

…and against better knowledge, Shiro's health-hazardous urge to push buttons won out in the end.

"You sure you want that, knowing where 'action' got you last time~?" his soft voice snaked into the demon's pointed ear as he embraced him from  
behind and let his hands trail up the lean chest.

"A bit of a one-trick-pony, are you?"

Ah. King of Time, and of space: Mephisto no longer held any wine glass, and no longer had his back to him; he faced him eye to eye, and held his  
wrists in a secure grip.

"What's this? Does my proximity make you _edgy_… Sammy~?" Crap. He wasn't going to get the truth about the Yaonaru out of him, ever. Shiro could  
practically _see _the irked-o-meter rise, and see his chances to get on Mephisto's good side diminish proportionally. Some temptations just can't be resisted.

"Play coy all you like, little lion", he dismissed him. "Do you honestly expect me – _me_ – to fall for the same ploy twice?"

No, of course not. Mephisto was one who craved the sensational, unimpressed by mediocre performance and mundane repetition. And to beat his  
expectations and catch that finicky demon off guard, one had to…

...do the last thing he would expect.

Shiro rose up on the balls of his feet and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

Oh yes, the last thing he would expect: Shiro grinned inwardly as the air of conceited diva dropped in favour of undiluted astonishment.

"If you think that fumbling attempt at a kiss is valid payment, you're sorely mistaken", he informed, quickly gathering himself up behind an uninterested  
façade. "And Honda-kun's sister might want to fish for a better catch."

"That's some really poor acting skills, you know", Shiro returned with a _very _content smirk: how often did you get to enjoy _Mephisto_ floundering for  
lines…?

"And a really poor kiss that will get you nowhere."

"You sure about that…?"

Demons' tongues aren't made of silver. They aren't forked, and they have no tang of sulphur and ash. But once you develop a taste for it… White wine,  
sweetened by candy; a lingering touch of strong tea on sharp fangs… a thrill of danger satin soft.

Once you develop a taste for it, nothing can compare.  
_  
Like a moth unto flame_

The wristlock broke, as did the kiss…  
_  
Little by little, he will burn you to ashes_

And he wouldn't care. Aeons passed when Mephisto took off his glasses, aeons that quivered in the hungry centimetres of air between their lips; a  
few centimetres of nothingness, crackling with forces beyond the grasp of a human mind…  
_  
Is it worth it?  
_  
Mephisto lingered on his tongue; spicy, sweet, _intoxicating_… Is it worth being burnt to cinders, to taste a spark of divine pleasure?

Silence left with the clink of his glasses against the table, and hunger took its place. Shiro dug his fingers into Mephisto's hair, pressed his lips against his.  
Worth it, worth that and much more – worth every pinprick of greedy claws that dug into his skin through the shirt.

He didn't know what he was doing. Instinct doesn't explain; it just acts, no questions asked. No consequences considered. No words needed, for the body  
knows what it wants.

The plush divan caught their fall, and for long moments Shiro merely soaked up the sight of his prey. Prey; because there and then, he knew what lions  
felt when the warm, panting body of a wild beast lay pinned down beneath and _begged_ to be eaten.

"I'm feeling a bit more inclined to tell you about the Yaonaru…" Shiro barely registered words; only a vicious desire to bury his teeth in pale white skin  
and tear that lilting voice into a gasp. "But just a bit", Mephisto purred, slowly running sinewy hands up the thighs that straddled his slim hips, making  
the hard bulge in Shiro's trousers ache to further persuade that-

"_-demon._" Somewhere in his hazy, horny mess of a brain, Reason managed to shout one word through the fog: demon. "What… have you done to me…?"  
he panted. As if that would help. As if suspicion could distract longer than split seconds.

"Done~?" _God_, that voice; like a hot, wet tongue curling tantalizing promises around the head of his cock. "What grows in the human heart is planted  
by humans", Mephisto breathed raggedly, pushing himself up with his hands and slipping out of the suit jacket like a snake shedding skin. "And nurtured  
by demons", he murmured a hairsbreadth from his lips; eyes of molten poison and breath of sweet wine, a hairsbreadth away, teasing, beckoning,  
waiting-  
_  
The flame burns… and the moth flies to it willingly_

It was Shiro who leaned into the kiss, nurtured by silver-tongued words and intoxicating thrills that smouldered between his legs. He was a bundle of  
sensation without thought: heat, moisture, skin… and lust. Searing, throbbing lust, sweeter than sin, burning through flesh and reason; hands stumbled  
over silver buttons, forced open the waistcoat, ripped the tie from the demon's neck-

"And when the fruit is ripe…" Mephisto's hands traced the curve of his back, his firm buttocks; pulled him closer, possessively, forcing a shaky breath from  
Shiro's lips when his hard arousal pressed against another. "…we devour it~"

A wild beast… pinned down and begging to be eaten…  
_  
Is it worth it, if the fox one day bites the rabbit?_

Predators' fangs left a hungry trail of hickeys on his throat.

"_Oh, it's worth it…_"

Shiro bit his lip around a moan as his belt-buckle emptied with a clink and gave clawed fingers access to his throbbing cock.

"_Nnnh worth it…_"

He rocked his hips into the lovely motions of Mephisto's hand, clutched at bony shoulders and purple hair – oh yes, he was ripe… but not reaped.

Shiro wrenched him back down into the soft divan, breath hissing through a hungry leer.

"_Yes..._"

Yes, Mephisto looked good in that suit – even better without it. But when his chest heaved air past the fangs in the wicked grin like that…

"_Oh yes…_"

…when hellfire set absinthian eyes aflame with unbridled lust…

"_And a handsome devil you are._"

…then he looked like sin incarnate. The thinner his patience stretched, the more of the demon that showed behind the façade he presented to the  
human world…

"_He could tear me to pieces._" An intense rush of heat flared through his groin. "_Oh I'm a sick fuck…_" And his grin stretched into wickedness. "I think  
you forgot something there", he spoke softly, struggling to control his breath as he lowered his face towards his prey. "You have to pick the fruit before  
you can devour it." The words struck a vicious spark in the green eyes; a challenge, always appreciated a challenge. "_Don't we both?_" His own eyes  
looked the same, he was sure, as he ran one finger up the demon's throat and out to the beard that tipped his chin. "Let's see you do that first, your  
highness", he smiled, tugging the goatee playfully and leaving a feather-light kiss on the smirking lips.

"The King of Beasts will contest the King of Time, is that it…? Well well~"

The pressure against the warm chest under Shiro's hand lessened, the fringes that framed Mephisto's face rose up to tickle his forehead, and something  
laid itself over his back… Without his senses registering any movement, they had suddenly switched position; and Shiro lay pinned on the sheets in the  
four-poster bed.

"I can imagine that's a rather handy trick?" Shiro grinned up at him.

"Oh yes: as is this."

The next thing he knew, his arms were stretched above his head. When he tried to lower them, he discovered that his wrists had been tied to the iron  
lacework of the headboard with his belt. A tingling thrill travelled down his spine and curled itself to rest in his gut: looking up at that devilish grin and  
those half-lidded eyes, it was evident who was predator and who was prey.

"What, you don't trust me~?" he smirked, tugging at his bonds.

"I wouldn't try my hand at taming a lion unless I'd made sure it was securely chained, Shiro-pon~" Shiro's shirt buttons came undone, one by one at  
agonizingly slow pace.

"You don't want a tame lion", he breathed through a smirk, relishing the feeling of kisses and nibbles and the soft tickle of Mephisto's beard trailing down  
his abdomen. "That'd be n-nnh~ that'd be no fun." That tongue on the ridge of muscle in his groin; shit, it felt- where had his underwear g-? "_Now _that's  
_a handy trick._"

"I beg to differ", he purred, looking extremely pleased with himself. "Taming a beast can be very… enjoyable~"

Mephisto curled his fingers around his hard cock and licked it slowly from base to head, coating it in saliva. The tip of his tongue dipped into the slit;  
swirled, prodded… He began working his fingers at the base – small motions, _frustrating _motions – while his tongue swept over the head, occasionally  
making Shiro's breath hitch by flicking over the string of skin that connected head to shaft.

"_Taking his merry time, that bastard._" So agonizingly slowly… Shiro's eyes shut as a wave of pleasure pushed a moan up his throat; and immediately  
opened again. Mephisto had stopped, pausing – _pausing? _– to tuck his long fringes behind his ears.

A salacious grin, the kind that meant no good, touched the demon's lips before he-

"N-nnh~" Shiro's hips bucked, or tried to, as Mephisto slid the head of his cock into his mouth. Only the head; one clawed hand on his hip made sure  
of that. "_That shitface…!_" It _was _payback. That grin had told him all he needed to know: Mephisto would tease him and taunt him as long as he pleased, until  
the lion was tamed to his liking. "_Nnh_ _but that's one hell of a silver tongue he's got..._"

It was a tongue that melted moans from his lips, a steady dripping of oil onto a fire that burnt hotter with each skilful stroke. The demon slowly coaxed  
him harder, to the point it was unbearable; slowly teased the burning need until building pleasure became unreleased pain. Shiro clenched his teeth  
around the gasps and moans, calling upon every ounce of self-control not to give Mephisto the pleasure of hearing him beg. He would not give in, would  
_not _give in, no matter how much he wanted that asshole to-

"Just suck it, you bastard", he panted, trembling with need under the thin film of sweat that coated his heaving chest.

Opposite effect. Of course.

"Tsk tsk, such language, Shiro."

Language? _Now_? Unbelievable, that guy…

"Pardon me, your highness", he returned with a pleasant smile, "but I don't think I'm the one with the dirty mouth here." He didn't have a string of  
pre-cum and saliva dangling from his, at least. But damn, what a turn-on that was… "_You did right in tying me up._" Had his hands been free, there would  
have been no pausing or teasing.

"Well well; I shall have to do my best not to dirty it further, then", he purred, licking the semen from his lip with a smile that sent burning jolts of lust  
through Shiro's cock.

…a tease. A sadistic tease of monstrous proportions, with all the technique of an Inquisition torturer.

"Haah ha-aahnn~" Shiro writhed on the sheets, the muffled creaking of leather groaning around his wrists. It felt incredible; incredible, and frustrating.  
Flaming lust throbbed in his gut, ate his thoughts, eroded his defiance: he needed the friction, needed those soft lips closed tightly around his cock… "_I  
hate you, I _hate _you_, _you pointy-eared fucking pest - but it's so _good_…!_" …but Mephisto kept bobbing his head up and down without touching him, just  
letting his warm breath enclose him with unfulfilled promises of hot, wet pleasure. His abdominal muscles clenched and unclenched around needy,  
ragged breaths, his fingers curled around the iron swirls that held him prisoner. "Hnnnh~ just… do it properly, you-haah~"

"And what's the word…?" he smirked sweetly, crawling up along his body like a deadly, slender feline toying with cornered prey.

He wouldn't give in, wouldn't beg, wouldn't-

"Please", he panted. Screw pride, screw dignity: all he wanted was to end the torture and come. "Give it to me, _please_."

"Good boy~" Absinthe eyes caressed his features approvingly, and the victorious smirk grew a few millimetres wider.

*poof*

The belt around his wrists disappeared. Shiro propped himself up on his lower arms. Mephisto's tongue was already making its way down his chest, fast,  
eager, and-

"Nnnh…" Shiro's fingers buried in the demon's hair, and his eyes closed in bliss as the heat of Mephisto's mouth finally swallowed- "Hah… haah…" His lips  
slid down his shaft slowly, taking in his whole length. "Nnh Mephis-nhaaah~" Shiro's body arched when the demon began to move up and down under his  
hand – dear god, he'd never even _imagined_…! "Haah haah nnnh _yes_…!" It was heaven; the wrong kind of heaven, probably, but one he wasn't going to  
trade for anything. Muscles contracted around him deep in the demon's throat, massaged him every time the head of his cock pushed into the hot,  
wet tightness, and drove him delirious with pleasure. "More! I-nnh Meh-aah Mephisto…!" He gasped at the feeling of sharp teeth ghosting over skin,  
seething jolts setting fire to that familiar tension of thrill in his gut. _This _was a proper blowjob! His fingers clenched in purple hair, body rushing towards  
a long-awaited orgasm that built, built- "Kee-haah keep going! Just a little more, I-nnh _more_!" Mephisto's motions came more erratically, fingers playing  
gently with Shiro's balls. His head fell backwards, eyes shut, breath fluttering at the top of his lungs-

Shiro's eyes snapped open, and for one befuddled moment he had no idea of anything. Then he realised he was in his bed, and it was still dark, and-

"_What the _hell_ did I just dream…?_" His eyelids grated like sandpaper against his eyes when he rubbed at them. "_I'm throwing the rest of those onigiri  
away. Right now._" After a quick visit to the bathroom, that was: the dream had left him with a pressing – _throbbing_ – matter to take care o-

"Sweet dreams~?"

Shiro sat bolt upright in his bed, hitting his forehead on the empty bunk above and-

"Must be terribly annoying, to get disrupted just when things were getting good", chimed the all-too-familiar voice, coming from a white blob atop the  
bookshelf. "Alas, a gentleman like myself couldn't bear to leave such desperate pleas unanswered: too cruel on my noble heart." No, this wasn't  
happening… "I wouldn't mind taking a lion to bed." Shiro's body couldn't decide whether it was hot or cold, much like his mind couldn't decide if he  
should kill Mephisto or himself or both. "Especially not when the lion's voice is so sweet on one's ears~" No, god, _no…! _"You make my name sound so  
_dirty_, Shiro~"

Shiro grabbed the first solid object within reach.

* * *

What later became known as the White Night fed on the many question marks surrounding its origin, and came to be explained as everything from a  
poltergeist attack to an indication that study stress had finally cracked Fujimoto Shiro's mind. The only thing the corridor's inhabitants could say for  
sure was that said student had sprinted down the hall like a rabid dog in nothing but his bed sheet, hurling everything he could get his hands on into  
walls, and roaring something about a "shit-eating, cunt-faced, perverted fucking incubus".

Some students, although they admitted they were still half-asleep and rather disoriented when it happened, said they had heard unhinged laughter  
in the corridor besides Fujimoto's profanities, and that they thought this to have been some sort of ghost. Others speculated if maybe the ghost had  
been the one to toss things around in the first place, since no human could possibly have thrown the vending machine halfway across the hall like that.  
In all, several versions of White Night lived on in the Academy's urban legends for many years to come, although the true nature of it never came to  
light.

…because the ones who learnt the truth were made to swear under oath never to tell a soul about it.

* * *

**A/N:** **I'm a vile tease, please don't hurt me…! TTwTT'**

**Shiro had it coming… **And no, I couldn't make it a "real" event. My basic reasoning is as follows: Mephisto won't let anyone get in the way of his  
plans, and that does not exclude himself. I imagine he's beckoned by all manner of temptations that he would love to give in to, but if they pose a risk  
to his long-term goals he will go against his own nature and abstain from them. His main aim isn't getting Shiro in bed (not that he would mind that)  
but to groom him for more important purposes.

**…I know I've got very competent smut writers** sitting in front of the computer screen right now. ^_^' I tip my hat to you and the work you do.  
I found this genre a bit of an uphill run, but feedback tells me it wasn't as bad as it looked on my screen. Thank you guys, it means a lot to me. ^u^

**Slight** _**Durarara!**_** reference **there. =P

**I sneaked in a little something** from classical literature that I'd be surprised if anyone beside _Azii_ notices, but if anyone does... then good for you. ;)


	86. 86: Explanations

**A/N: I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

"_Wonder if this is part of payback, too, or if the bastard just got lucky…_"

Because explaining to his two best friends why he had thrown chairs after their principal-

Well, first of all, to explain why their principal had been in his dorm room at night was-

And explaining this while he tried to hide the painful erection pressing against his boxers-

Shit, explaining why he even _had_ a hard-on in the first place-

"I'm not sure how to explain this." Good start. Shizuku and Ryuuji, who had hauled him into their room when he had stomped back to his own,  
patiently awaited the rest. "But I can say that it's not what it looks like." Best fucking explanation he'd ever pulled. Great job.

"Really? 'cause ta me it looks like ye chased ye' demon friend outta yer room at night, wearing nothin' but ye' bed sheet." And Shizuku himself  
looked like he was very sceptical to the 'not what it looks like' part.

"I _have _underwear under it", Shiro huffed, trying to adjust the sheet around his waist: said underwear was a bit of a tight fit at the moment. "He was in  
there 'cause he was paying me back for a prank I pulled on him, that's all."

There was still a reasonable amount of doubt and questions on Shizuku's features, which wasn't unexpected since the whole situation did look rather…  
suggestive.

"Did he get back at you…?" Ryuuji asked from his seat on his bunk.

"What do you think? I threw a fucking vending machine after him." And would have a tremendously sore arm tomorrow, if the thick pain in his shoulder  
was any indication. Thank god Saburota was away on mission, otherwise- God? God had nothing to do with that: a certain smug demon had.

"Kinda has me curious", Shizuku resumed, looking him up and down and scratching his chin. "What does one hav'ta do te you ta make ye so pissed ye  
can lift a vending machine?"

There was a moment of silence, in which Shiro failed to come up with a credible and less embarrassing substitute for what Mephisto had actually done.

"You don't want to know." This statement was followed by another silence that let him realise just how suggestive _that_ sounded. "Uh, I mean…" How  
many times had he told himself not to open his mouth when he was tired…?

"I recall ye bellowin' something 'bout a perverted fucking incubus…?" Shizuku pointed out helpfully, and cocked his head to the side with a raised eyebrow.

Shiro massaged his forehead with an unarticulated grumble. Brilliant, absolutely brilliant; running down the corridor and shouting so that everybody  
could hear…

"Well, not literally a perverted fucking incubus; just a male demon with a twisted sense of humour. He sprinkled oneiroi dust in my face while I was  
asleep and fiddled with my dreams", he muttered, rubbing remaining particles from his eyelashes. It was the same substance that had led non-exorcists  
to invent the concept of Sandman. Reality wasn't that romantic, however: the "sand" was dandruff from the oneiroi, spirits that induced and lived in  
human dreams.

"That's pretty creative, I'll give 'im that", Shizuku chuckled. "In what way did 'e fiddle with 'em?"

"I'd rather not discuss that." With anyone. Ever.

"Come on, ye tossed a _vending machine_! I wanna know how ta make ye that mad!"

…and that was some rather unpleasant mental images too, yes.

"No, you don't; and you never will", Shiro concluded, and grasped the door handle to get back to his own ro-

"Meh, well… I can just ask Pheles instead."

*twitch*

"NO YOU WILL NOT!" Shiro was pointing with his whole arm, and speaking much louder than he had intended to. "Not a word, not a breath, not even  
a _thought _of this in his presence, do you hear me?!"

"I hear ya, I hear ya: like just about the rest o' the dorm does", he ensured, taken aback by the unexpectedly strong response to such a simple bait.  
"Relax, I'm just curious o' what-"

Shizuku was interrupted by the peculiar sound of someone so embarrassed he's giggling, but trying not to giggle as that would be even more embarrassing.  
And whatever he was so torn about, Ryuuji was too giddy to say. When he eventually got enough hold of himself to spill, Shiro wished he hadn't.

"I think I can guess what you dreamt." Ryuuji's cheeks were burning red, but he couldn't stop laughter form bouncing in his voice. "You smell like  
someone who has… been visited by an incubus…"

Of course. Of course: he had the same good nose for pheromones as Mephisto and Midori had, _of course _he could smell that Shiro had been turned on  
mere minutes ago…!

"Perverted fucking incubus, huh…?" Shizuku said, looking at Shiro as if he had expected that all along. What the hell, he had _expected _Shiro to…?

"_You sure planned this out well, you shithead._" Okay, first things first: "It was a _dream_. I'm not gay, and not for some grinning jerk of a demon", he  
grated out, changing his stance in hope of finding some way to lessen the discomfort in his underwear. "He just loves teasing me about it."

Some words make people's jaws drop, and some make their entire faces fall in astonishment.

"You mean he…?"

"Ye dreamt ye slept with- with _him_?"

Shit.

"_Is it even possible to screw up this bad?_" They had thought his dreams had been about women: induced by Mephisto, but about women. And when they  
realised what kind of dream it had really been, both Shizuku and Ryuuji fell down screaming with laughter.

"It's not that funny, guys."

"Ye kidding?! It's the best I've heard in-wahahahahaaa! Glorious! Glorious!"

"Shiro, you- you-nhnhnhnhnaahahhaha I can't believe it! This i-hihihihahaha it's just-"

"_The worst fucking day of my life_", Shiro filled in, standing before his laughing best friends with an aching hard-on in his boxers and ears heating up as  
if they were aiming to catch fire. Well, he wouldn't mind if they did. If he could just spontaneously self-combust he would at least save himself the  
humiliation. "Shut up, you two." As if. Hopefully, Shizuku would faint from lack of air soon. "You're not telling a soul about this, okay? _No one_. Especially  
not Kasumi-chan." They both nodded, gasping for air and tittering like bloody kindergarten girls. "I have no idea how to erase those dreams from my  
brain, or how I'm gonna get back at that shitty little imp, but I _will_ make him pay for this."

"How-nhhnhnh how- how did you make him this mad at you in the first place…?" Ryuuji panted, wiping his tears on his sleeve. His tanuki heritage was  
visible in the way the dim light that reflected back from his eyes; and negated by his very un-demonic Astro Boy pyjamas.

* * *

…explanations never come out as they were meant to, when it's three o'clock in the morning and your pride has passed on prematurely without you.

"Okay, lemme get this straight: ye – in a sense, maybe, sort of, kinda, might have – _flirted_ with him…?" Shizuku repeated, sitting cross-legged on his  
bunk and staring at Shiro as if hoping for a less incredible explanation.

Which he was not going to get.

"I didn't _flirt _with him", Shiro grimaced. He'd been given a desk chair to sit on, and kept one leg sloppily crossed over the other to hide the  
waning-but-still-visible bulge. "It was a… a strategic deception with sexual undertones. Crap, that sounds even worse."

"It sounds like what you described. I mean… you were _undressing _him."

Shiro cringed at Ryuuji's words. Yes, he _had _undressed Mephisto, or started to, but it sounded-

"Somehow it's impossible to talk about this without making it sound really weird", he muttered.

"And ye didn't think that it was a weird thing ta do in the first place…?"

"Of course, but…" Shiro ran a hand through his unruly hair, as if trying to physically sort out his scrambled thoughts. It _was _a weird thing to do, when  
he thought about it; and yet, it had somehow seemed like a completely logic thing to do. "It's not something I'd do to any of you guys, or anyone else."  
The mere thought of stripping Ryuuji was- No. Just no. "It's different with Mephisto. It's not a weird thing to do around _him._" …which in itself sounded  
extremely weird. "Shit, I don't know, it's just… it's a demon thing. I can't- Ow!"

"Just checkin' if yer ears 're growing pointy yet." The look on Shizuku's face suggested that only part of that was a joke. "Honestly, Shiro-san… that  
demon-charmer thing ye've got goin' is kinda creepy. Doesn't it ever scare ya…? That ye… That it comes so naturally to ya? That ye act like one without  
even thinking 'bout it – an' this whole thing with having ta actively block demons from possessing ya, it's… just what the hell are you?" Realising how  
that sounded, he chuckled awkwardly and looked down, scratching the back of his head. Good; because Shiro had just experienced a moment of clarity  
that he wasn't eager to share just yet. "Sorry, that came out wrong. I'm tired. What I meant was… Screw it, I don't know what I meant. I don't know  
what you are, an' ta be honest I don't really get ya." He chortled tiredly. "Ye're like that mysterious guy in manga that no one knows anything 'bout,  
an' then outta the blue ye do crazy stuff an' turn out ta be some kind 'a unda'cova' superhero."

Superhero…

"Special attack: throwing vending machines", Ryuuji suggested with a wide smile.

"An' if 'e's in a tight spot, 'e can use 'is Devilish Charm ta seduce 'is enemies", Shizuku fell in with a wobbly giggle.

"And I would have x-ray glasses that let me see through women's clothes."

"Why would ye wanna see through _women's _clothes…?"

* * *

A few more minutes of laughter and tired minds, and they had added the final touches to the Perverted Paladin: a legendary superhero with the power  
to see through (select) clothes, skin pores that could emit love potion in gas form (possibly explaining the clouds of glittering particles surrounding Oscar  
de Jarjayes in _Berusayu no Bara_), and the ability to summon vending machines through step dancing (it had something to do with Mephisto snapping his  
fingers whenever he summoned something, and what gesture would be the equivalent of that for the Perverted Paladin, but Shiro might have been too  
tired to catch the entire reasoning behind the step dance conclusion).

They had eventually decided that some sleep before tomorrow would be nice, and Shiro had said goodnight and walked back to his own room. Students  
had gone back to sleep as soon as it was clear that no danger was afoot. The dorm was silent, and no matter how softly he padded over the floorboards  
his steps seemed to echo in the darkness.

Silence is an awful thing. It makes one's thoughts that much louder.

_That demon-charmer thing ye've got goin' is kinda creepy._ _Doesn't it ever scare ya…? That it comes so naturally to ya?_

It was a very simple statement; Shizuku probably hadn't even thought about what he was saying. It's those simple statements that tip worlds on end.  
It was the first time Shiro realised that the things about demons that were obvious to him, weren't obvious to others. And in most cases never would be.

Did it scare him? At times, maybe. But what good did being afraid do? The imprint wasn't going away. Demons weren't going to stop coming after him.  
All he could do was to make the best of the situation and try as best he could to live as he had bef-

"Ouch, son of a-!"

Ryuuji looked surprised to see him again so soon, when he opened the door to the room he and Shizuku shared.

"I was just gonna ask if you could wake me for school tomorrow", Shiro said, twiddling the cog he'd stepped on between his fingers. "I chucked my  
alarm clock at Mephisto."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oneiroi** - Greek for "dreams", and personification of such.


End file.
